All I Ever Wanted
by V.W. Norton
Summary: THE SECRET STORY OF GANGSTER 55: "I suppose I might as well be honest, no one's going to care. Not now. No one's left. That's all my fault too..." READ the WARNINGS, please. No flames. R&R & ENJOY!
1. This is my story

Updated 12/28/09

I've made some changes to the original (combining chapters 4&5) after accidentally deleting chapter8 (now chapter 7). Please forgive my perfectionism...

This story is the real story of Gangster 55, based on the movie Gangster No. 1 by Paul McGugain. It's told from the Gangster's point of view.

**WARNINGS:** heavy language, somewhat-sadistic-gang-violence, and I've tweaked the story line so there's some slash... don't like? don't read. Really easy on you, honest...

Please review (although I'm sure you're probably sick of reading that) and, even if you think I'm perfect and don't review, ENJOY!!!!

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**Chapter 1:**

**This is my story and it's for whoever finds it first…

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**

My name is Archer Sloane and I was born in London, to a pawn shop broker and a waitress. I was the forth child out of seven, the middle child, the one everyone forgot about. When Annie and Ashley were born, mum immediately focused on her two little girls, leaving dad to take care of the rest of us. I slowly learned to hate her for that, because my father, as kind as he may have seemed to some, wasn't a good man.

He was a cheat, and a liar, and he'd do favors for others _only_ when he could benefit from it. Cash was his motivator. I watched him blackmail people – I delivered the letters – and I watched him hire hit men to "take care of" someone he didn't like. Scotch was my father's only real friend. I can't remember him without a glass in his hand, unless he set it down, and you never wanted him to set his glass down if you were within arm's reach of him. You'd get walloped. Hard. And he'd hit you again if you cried; he said it would make a man out of you. I don't know if it made me a man.

I only know that it made me hate him.

He and my brother's would taunt me, and eventually their insults and jibes became ingrained in my mind. I believed every word they said. They were right, I was a freak: they'd told me this often enough and I could see the proof with my own eyes. I looked different then any of them, with my pale hair and blue eyes and pale skin, and I wasn't incredibly handsome, or clever, or funny, or athletic, or… well, anything really. Unlike the rest of my brothers, I was gangly and uncoordinated – I was the resident klutz, always running into furniture and breaking things. I was just there, watching from the corner.

I became, what I supposed you'd call, a "troubled youth." That phrase is bullshit. All it means is that you don't fit in and you know it, and this makes you upset (no shit), so you vent your feelings. But that's not what the shrink told me when I was in the first form. Said that I had to try harder to overcome my issues. Said it would take time. Said she felt sorry for me. Said she understood. All very kuum-bi-ya. So she sent me to a correction facility.

I got out, three years later, when I was 16, and only my little sister Annie was still in London - attending a boarding school. I discovered I'd been disowned. That wasn't a good time. Not good at all. I had no place to live, I had to scrounge for food, slept on the streets wrapped in sheets I'd stolen of laundry lines… I finally decided that there was nothing else for it…

I'd have to turn to crime if I wanted to eat. So, when I was 18, I became a bagman for Maxie King, before he started working for Lennie Taylor. That was 1962.

In 1965, I was a bouncer.

1966, bartender.

1967, professional card shark.

But when everything happens, when this story really begins, it was 1968. And I was still, even at 24, a "troubled" bloke. I still hated my mother for leaving, for not caring. I still hated my father for drinking, for taking everything out on me. I still hated my brothers and sisters for being oh so bloody perfect. I still hated myself.

Over the past thirty years, that hatred has turned itself into resentment. A bitter, harsh, painful resentment: that I had to work harder than the others to get hired, that he chose that...that... _gold digger_ over me, at what I had to do to stop Lennie Taylor from taking over, at the fact that no one trusted me. They never gave me a chance to prove myself: prove that I _have_ brains, more so than most, and that I _do_ care about people...

Maybe that's my problem. Maybe I care too much.

But I'm bitching and that's not the point of this introduction. The point is to inform you, who ever _you_ are, that I, Archer Sloane, was a gangster. The money collecting, head bashing, petrol bombing, cocaine dealing kind. I was good at it too. Now, I'm in charge of London. I'm now number one.

I started out, as I've mentioned, as a bartender and pool hall piss-artist. I eventually scraped enough together to get by and lived in a one room flat: communal bathroom, leaking roof, window that wouldn't shut, cockroaches, rats… And I'd pretty much given up getting anywhere… and being anyone…

But then, I was hired by Freddie Mays.

Freddie Mays, the Butcher of Mayfair. The man was a god damned legend in those days. Killed a copper in Bethanal Green and got away with it. That was the way to hit the top, see. Kill a cop. Make a splash. Zoom to the top of the ladder like a bloody gas balloon.

My break came while I was playing snooker with Jack the Lad. Fat Charlie came in. (Fat Charlie wasn't really fat, but his mum was and it was the way we distinguished him from Skinny Charlie. Now he _was_ fat, but by then it was too late to change it…)

Anyway, Fat Charlie comes up to me and says: "Go and see Freddie Mays."

My heart was beating like mad, but I went. And was shocked to find, not the ruthless maniac I'd expected, but a gentleman. Italian leather. Champagne. Class. A class act. The word "impressive" re-defined. And he hired me on the spot, gave me five hundred quid, right off to get me kit out in a nice set of suits.

Me, an arseholed fag from Lambeth. I don't know what he saw in me. Muscle, maybe? Or desperation? It didn't really matter to me. I'd started working for Freddie Mays.

And working for Freddie Mays was different than anything else I'd ever done. It was brilliant, it was, it was fun, it was… God… fucking easy. I mean, honestly, what did I do for a living, while working for Mr. Mays? I tracked down people who owed him money, got the money from them, messed them up a bit if they didn't have it, terrified them into submission if they resisted, and then I'd come back to Freddie's flat for all the whiskey I'd like, and a fucking leather settee. All for £500 a month. Tailor included.

Brilliant.

Our biggest worry was Lennie Taylor, but at the beginning, you couldn't even call him a worry. Sure he was the head of a rival gang and he and Freddie at a bit of history, but he kept to his half of London, and so we kept to ours. Nothing more than the occasional skirmish. Personally, I was more worried about his number two: Maxie King. I had my own bit of history with him. He was a greasy fag, always wore this camel-hair coat, and always skulking about where he shouldn't have been. I didn't like him being on Lennie Taylor's side. But, like I've said, that all wasn't too much of a worry for us…

Freddie's Boys.

There we were, suited up and booted up. Wasted on those fucking toe rags we called debtors. But I enjoyed the work – it was my type of job, one that needed a steel jaw, a quick fist a sharp eye, a gutsy loyalty, and a quick mind that could produce a solution to a problem efficiently and quietly.

And I wasn't the only member of the gang who enjoyed the risks that went along with the job: I quickly became friends with Mad John, Freddie May's gunman. The two of us became inseparable - I made him my right hand man when I took over - and while we spent half our time beating up slags, the rest we spent talking, clubbing, attempting to make food without poisoning ourselves, watching movies or playing poker. (We eventually moved on to strip poker. I didn't mind so much, John was easy to beat.)

At about one or two in the morning, I'd go back to the flat that I shared with my sister, Annie. She was usually asleep when I came home, but, then, she started work at six in the morning whereas I started at nine, usually. She'd have my breakfast sitting in the oven, any clean laundry folded – she was a lovely girl. Annie tended to turn a blind eye to what I did at work: she wouldn't ask what I'd been up to and I wouldn't offer any information. This arrangement suited us both just fine.

My brother Andrew, on the other hand, came over once or twice a week and he was nosy as hell. Useful as a chocolate teapot too. Never got two words of sense out of him strung together, him being a fucking rent boy. But he was harmless; a good kid, and he'd look after Annie whenever I was away. John sometimes would come over for Sunday dinner and it always amused me to listen the two of them. They were two of a kind. Both absolutely mental. It made for interesting conversation.

I never heard from the rest of my family. Like I've said, they didn't like me so much.

But they weren't the only ones. Oh, John was grand, a true wide boy (even if he was a right mardy) and Charlie was a china, too. Roland was all right, Billy was a bit of a flid, Derek was a total anorak (that eventually got on my nerves), and Eddie was a milksop. But Tommy, Freddie's right-hand man... Tommy pissed me off right from the start. Had the attitude of a fucking rozzer. Always harping on everything me or John did. And because he was in charge of assignments, guess who got all the muscle work? Not that we minded, but still… he treated us like we were gormless cunts… He was a fucking arsehole.

But we made the best of it, John and I, had our fun with it anyway. I think it pissed him off and I'm sure that didn't help Freddie's opinion of me. But, then, I screwed it up royally all on my own…

I suppose I might as well be honest, no one's going to fucking care. Not now. No one's left. That's all my fault too..... See, it all started with that incident with Giggler Bennett. Well, actually it started before that, but the Giggler Bennett Affair was the spark – set the rest of the fireworks off, one by one… And, of course, that's when everything – abso-fucking-lutely _everything_ – started to go wrong...


	2. Mates & Enemies

**Chapter 2:**

**Mates & Enemies

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**

The trouble all started on a Tuesday. Fifth week on the job. I'd spent the morning collecting with John, like usual. Not too tricky, same old routine…

_ I turn the corner and there he is, that bloody cunt that's been dodging payment for months. He spots us turning the corner and breaks into a sprint. Oh, so you think you're going to run away from us, do you?_

"_Come here, you cunt!"_

_ I run after him, my feet flying over the pavement, my heart pounding in my chest. I thunder down the stairs. Faster. Faster. Closer. Closer. I can hear his breath now, haggard and panicked. I grin to myself and push one last burst of speed out of my legs. I grab him and the other two bend him backward over the balcony railing._

_ He's crying now, and I nearly laugh, knowing that he's more scared of me than of the eight story drop beneath him._

"_No! No!" He screams, "No! Give me until next Thursday, please!"_

_ I slam my fist into his face. "Thursday never fucking comes!" We strap his feet to the railing and leave him dangling there, screaming bloody murder…_

"Give me until next Thursday"? Slags. It was pathetic. Fucking excuses. All sorts. From A to zed, the whole alphabet. Jokers. But we were a good team John and I: we were both gunmen, runners, and tough as nails - we were always Freddie's first choice for a tough assignment. And whenever he went somewhere, we went with him.

Derek was also with us most of the time, but I didn't like him so well - couldn't understand a fucking word he said! Stupid sousse. Cause no end of trouble... then he'd get pissed at me of course. Whatever.

One time, this was the worst of all, John, Derek and I went after two cunts who owed money. Apparently Derek yelled that he'd follow the guy on the left. All I heard was that he was going to double back…

_ "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"_

_ "Me?!? What do you... you said..."_

_ "I said I'd go left!!"_

_ "Well don't stop running after him you idiot..."_

_ "Idiot! I like that! I ain't the one with shit instead of ears!"_

_ "CUNT!!! You FUCKING CUNT!! You fucking let him get away!"_

_ "DID NOT!!!"_

Told Freddie it was my fault, of course. Arsehole.

It actually turned pretty ugly – amongst the group of us, I mean – don't think Freddie really knew how pissed off Derek got… and I suppose I didn't help the problem any… but after that day, the group of us was split into two groups: Derek, Tommy, Roland, and Eddie versus John, Billy, Charlie and I. Freddie was strictly neutral. Strictly blind.

Second incident, two weeks later, Wednesday. Freddie announces that he's going to deal with a debtor himself and took three of us with him: John, Charlie, and me. Tommy and Derek were furious.

Derek started yelling at me...

I yelled back...

Tommy started yelling at me...

John started yelling at Tommy...

Roland started yelling at John...

Billy started yelling at Roland...

Eddie started yelling at Billy...

Charlie started yelling at Eddie...

It took Freddie ten fucking minutes to calm all of us down. By that time, Billy and Roland were having it out, Tommy was trying brain John, and Charlie was trying to get Derek off me so that I wasn't strangled to death...

Freddie didn't change the line-up, but he did give Derek and Tommy a severe bashing. Fucking livid. Yelled at the lot of us for a good solid hour and a half and then stormed out of there like a hurricane. John said he had nightmares for a week. Right. Silly arsehole. But I was shaken, not going lie, and it kept things pretty quiet... for a week or two...

But then came the Giggler Bennet Affair...

We were striding down the alley, Freddie in the lead, me right behind him and the others close behind. I'd got a couple of sledge hammers in my left hand, one for me and one for Freddie. Giggler was under a taxi working on the engine and didn't even notice we were there until I pulled him out from under it.

Freddie looked down at Giggler, then at Mad John and Roland. "Hold him." They pressed him down to the ground, knees on his chest.

"Hey, what'd I do?" Giggler asksed, frightened, "What's the problem."

Freddie leaned down toward him, delightfully pissed off, "You are! Still, nothing I can't fix with a few tools eh?" He gestured to me and I handed him his sledge hammer.

"Come on, don't do this shit!" Giggler beged, struggling madly but hopelessly against John and Roland.

"While I waste my time speaking with you? Remember the last time we went through this? That put a smile on your face, didn't it?"

Freddie nudged me and moved to the driver's side of the car. I eagerly moved around to the other side, watching Freddie, waiting for my queue. "Leather seats, sir?" he said, "Better roll down the windows in this weather."

And with that he swung his sledge hammer into the windscreen. It shattered, and Giggler started yelling as Freddie and I made quick work of the rest of the windows.

Driver's window. "Freddie, come on!"

Front passenger window. "It's not even my taxi."

Passenger door window on the left. "It's not even my fucking taxi, you bastard!"

Passenger door window on the right. "Freddie!"

Passenger windows, right and left. "Don't fucking do it, you bastard!"

Rear window. "What is it with you cockneys, eh?!"

We moved back to the front of the car, and I looked at our handiwork. It was a beautiful sight, glass everywhere. Giggler was nearly in tears. I couldn't help smirking along with Freddie. Stupid bastard. Who did he think he was, anyway, trying to dodge Freddie Mays? Trying to outwit Freddie Mays? Fucking cunt.

Got all he deserved.

Freddie nodded to John and Roland and they "help" Giggler up, throwing him back into the hood of the car. "There you go," Freddie said, "I know a bloke who'll take a look at that for you. Now… let's see that money, eh? By tomorrow."

Freddie turned around to leave and we followed, the same order we came. We'd not gone twenty steps and suddenly I saw Giggler out of the corner of my eye running for Freddie, with a screwdriver in his hand.

"Freddie!" I yelled in warning, pushing him out of the way. I felt a sharp pain in my hand and a worse one in my side but I gritted my teeth, and then John was pulling Giggler off of me and I spun around to shove that bloody cunt in the chest – back, away from Freddie. He stumbled back towards his car and I spun him around and John grabbed his other arm.

"Get back to work you lazy cunt!" We threw him, headfirst against the front of the car, caught him as he fell back and then shoved him back down under the car. I was angry but it was only simmering in my chest, the rest of me was cool, calm, calculating. Like normal. I was thinking, thinking, brain racing...

_ Freddie, screwdriver, cunt, hurt, Giggler: taxi driver, taxi, Giggler, jack..._

_ Got it._

"Now," I said, nodding at John and Roland, "let's get this car back on the road, eh?"

John nodded eagerly; we pushed the car off the jacks, and when it fell we stood there for a moment, listening to the yells. "Now, Giggler," I say, "you stay lucky, eh?" My mind registered that he was dead, that I'd killed him, but it didn't seem to matter. Didn't feel real - I felt fine - some guilt but that was easy enough to get rid of... Still, it was odd. Usually there was something there, something clenching in my chest, making it hard to breathe. Something to remind me that I'd just committed a murder.

But I felt fine. And that worried me.

We stepped back to where Freddie'd been standing, watching all this, and he glanced at me, "All right?" He asked.

I glanced down at my hand, which was oozing blood slightly from the screwdriver gash. My side was throbbing like mad. "Yeah," I said and he nodded before looking back at the trapped body under the car.

"Nice," he said, "Very nice. Creative. I like that."

John grinned at me.

"It deserves a drink," Freddie said, turning away, "What are you having?" We got in Freddie's car and drove off, leaving sparking glass and a puddle of blood. I watched the blood slowly ooze from my hand, my mind still working in overdrive.

_ Giggler, dead, squashed, dead, Freddie, pleased, good, hand hurts, Freddie, safe, good, Giggler, dead, good, John, happy, Tommy, Derek, Roland, Freddie, pleased, good, _

_dead, bad, blood, glass, car, driving, Roland, talking, Freddie, laughs, hand hurts, side hurts, eyes itch, music, too loud, turn corner, too fast, slam into John,_

_ ouch..._

"Archer? You all right, mate?"

_hand really hurts, screwdriver, _

"Archer!"

_Giggler, taxi, dead, my fault, _

"Archer, Archer, come on!"

_ my fault, my fault, hollow..._

"Oh, fuck! Freddie, pull over..."

_ hand... hurts, side hurts... _

"Fucking hell! Look at his side..."

_ hurts... hurts... _

"Need to get him back, he's bleeding like hell..."

_ my fault... my fault... my..._

Charlie patched me back up, no problem. I was back on my feet the next day. After that, about a month went by without trouble. Everything went smoothly, and I'd almost managed to convince myself that it had just been my imagination working overtime, that there was nothing the matter with me. Nothing at all. _Nothing at all…_Except Freddie kept giving me these odd, concerned looks, almost as if he was afraid I'd fall apart on him at any moment. It was rather disconcerting.

Then, wouldn't you know it, my past decided to sneak up on me...

It was, I'd say, about eleven o'clock when I got back home from Freddie's. I walked in, sat my gun down, gave Annie a peck on the cheek, gave Andrew a hug and sat down on the couch with a lovely bottle of Newcastle Brown. Andrew put in one of those James Bond movies, _Goldfinger_, I think it was.

I asked Drew what the movie was about, I didn't remember it very well.

"It's the one where that Goldfinger person plans to explode a nuclear device in Ft. Knox to create a major economic crisis."

"Goldfinger?"

"Yeah, you know. The guy that kills that one girl by covering her in gold paint."

"Nice. What a way to be romantic..." I said, putting my feet up on the table, "Isn't this also the one with that Aston Martin DB5?"

"The one that has that ejection seat?"

"Yeah."

"Uh-huh." He nodded, "That's this one."

"Excellent."

Annie kicked my feet, "Get those dirty shoes off my table... and why don't you chill your beer? It's better that way."

"Like hell it is!" I snorted.

Drew laughed, "My dear girl," he mimicked, "there are some things that just aren't done, such as drinking Dom Perignon '53 above the temperature of 38 degrees Fahrenheit. That's just as bad as listening to the Beatles without earmuffs!"

We all laughed, even if the hero on the telly was about to be chopped in half by a laser, and then we sat on the crappy couch in my cramped Chelsea flat, laughing and gasping at all the right moments, munching our way through a bag of crisps, until the credits came up - at about midnight - and the doorbell rang.

"Who the hell could that be?" Drew asked, as he got up to rewind the video.

"No idea." I muttered, slipping my shoes back on, "Annie lay down, all right, you too Drew... Oh, come on Annie, lay down, please. No, don't throw a pillow at me, that's not going to help... Lay down... please."

"Oh, all right." She grumbled before covering her face with a pillow, "I don't really see why we need to."

"You never know, best to be on the safe side," Drew whispered, "Could be Maxie King for all we know."

"Ugh." Hissed Annie.

"Exactly." I whispered, "He'd stink up the place with that camel hair coat of his. We'd never get the stink out." Annie giggled.

I walked quietly to the door, slipping my gun back under my jacket as I un-bolted it. But there was no Maxie King, no gangster, no bastard with a machete or machine gun. No. Just Richard. Good old Richard. Ex-boyfriend of mine. Absolute cunt who was always fucking gagging to get loaded or buggered. I'd thought I was well shod of him.

Apparently not.

"Hey there Archer, can I have a minute?"

"What the fuck do you want."

He gulped, "I heard you were working for Freddie Mays."

I felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on my head. So that was it, eh? I was someone now, I was working for the big shot now, and so little Mister Richard Winters comes racing back so he can kiss up and get back in my bed. Sure. That was _really_ going to happen. Right. _Over my castrated body._

"So, I work for Freddie Mays. What the fuck is it to you? Eh? Do you want me to recommend you or something? Put a good word in so you can work for him too, is that it?"

He glared at me. "Don't be stupid. I wouldn't work for Freddie Mays if you threatened to chop my dick off." I snort, wishing someone would chop it off, "No, I just thought..."

"What?" I snapped.

He didn't answer. Just looked at me. Looked at me for an age and then shook his head. "Nothing. Forget it. It was stupid of me to think it."

He turned to walk away.

"What did you want, Richard? What the fuck did you come here for? You're not going to tell me that you drove all the way over from South Lambeth to Chelsea just to confirm that I've changed careers? Or maybe, Richard, you wanted to inquire after my health, was that it? Wanted to know if I'd gotten Syphilis yet?"

"No! I just thought you might be a bit more charitable in the face of your new-found good fortune, that's all?"

"Oh? So it's money you want then? How much?"

"I don't want money, Archer! I want to apologize! I want to come back!"

"Apologize?"

"Yes. I was wrong. I was dead wrong, and I'm sorry."

"You want to come back. And you're sorry."

"Yes, Archer, I am."

I laughed. I laughed until it hurt, not because I needed to, not because I found what he said particularly funny. I laughed because it was something to do. Because the physical pain is always so much better than the internal pain. The internal pain that came back at the sight of Richard. Because how the hell could he think that I'd let him back after what happened with Peter? Did he really think I was going to let him back into my life just so he could cheat on me again? _Fuck no._

"You want to come back? YOU want to come BACK?!? What the FUCK makes you think I want YOU to come BACK?! You're a fucking, LYING, sneaking, CHEATING, bloody BASTARD, and you're more concerned about having a cock up your substantial ass than having it be your BOYFRIEND'S!!!"

I pushed him in the chest, ignoring Andrew who was telling me to calm down, and I continued pushing Richard back, back towards the stairs. "I TRUSTED YOU!!! And you SNEAK BEHIND MY BACK with my SISTER'S BOYFRIEND!!! And you don't even APOLOGIZE!!! All YOU said was 'Well, we liked each other!' Yeah? I liked YOU! I liked you a LOT! But then YOU had to be all horny, didn't you! Had to get your daily dose of cock! And, oh, poor you, I wasn't around!!! I was at my mum's FUNERAL, wasn't I? I wasn't AVAILABLE!!! So YOU found a substitute! And you FUCKED, in OUR bed!!!"

I could feel my eyes stinging, my heart pounding, my chest in agony. _It hurts. It fucking hurts. I hate it. I hate it! I HATE IT!!! And it's his fault, ALL HIS FAULT!!!!_

"You CUNT!!!" I screamed, pushing him again, "You FUCKING CUNT!!! I DON'T WANT YOU BACK!!! I HATE YOU!! I HATE YOUR FUCKING GUTS!!! SO YOU CAN JUST GO AND FIND SOMEONE ELSE TO PLEASURE YOURSELF WITH... OR... OR I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!!! YOU HEAR ME!?! I'LL CHOP OFF YOUR DICK AND SHOVE IT DOWN YOUR THROAT! AND THEN I'LL CHOP OFF YOUR FUCKING HEAD!!! YOU CUNT!!!" I pushed him, "YOU FUCKING CUNT!!!!" I pushed him again, "YOU FUCKING, _FUCKING_ CUNT!!!"

I'd pushed him against the stair railing at the end of the hallway, now, and one last push, and he was over the railing, falling, falling, screaming. I heard the thud. The screaming stopped. I turned back towards my apartment, there was something rising in my throat. Something bitter and I forced it back down.

Annie was standing in the doorway, Andrew right behind her. I slowly walked back, not wanting to face them. _What the fuck have I done?_ _And why the fuck aren't they running away from me? I've a fucking monster. A monster._ But Annie only touched my face, her worried face softening slightly as she felt the tears that were then flowing down my face. I stepped past them, turning away. Trying to hide my face; walked through the living room to my bedroom. I closed the door behind me and turned out the light. I laid on my bed, staring out the window at the lights of London.

I felt empty. Hollow. Exhausted. Drained. Everything I hate feeling.

_ And I can't understand why I can't stop crying... I don't know... Maybe I'm going mad... _


	3. Cigarettes & Secrets

**Chapter 3:**

**Cigarettes & Secrets

* * *

**

I didn't sleep a wink that night, and I didn't have the stomach for breakfast. Nearly got sick on the way out of the apartment building: there was a red stain on the tiles of the main hallway and a body bag by the door. Police everywhere. I just said I didn't know what had happened. I guess they believed me because nothing ever came of it.

Anyroad, I was late for work. Everyone was sitting there, still as statues, waiting. _Freddie Mays. Waiting for me. Oh fuck._

"Where the hell you been?" Tommy asked, glaring at me as he opened the front door.

"Sorry," I muttered, "I, er, overslept." I heard John snort with laughter as I sat down in my usual place, right across from Freddie. I tried valiantly to ignore the harsh look Freddie threw my way.

"Well." He said, "Now that everyone's decided to join us, I suppose we can get started now... Is that alright with you, Archer?"

I looked at my hands, and nodded.

"Good." There was no mistaking the sarcasm in his voice and I winced, wondering _why the hell he had to choose to day to start early_. "We've got a lot to do today, so we'd better get started, I hope that our excessive... er... exhaustion won't impact our performance." John snickered again.

"First off, I'm sure you all remember Trevor. The cunt that Archer replaced. He's been talking to Lennie Taylor, apparently. So, Roland and Derek.. you shut him up. And I don't want any mistakes, all right? Shouldn't be too hard... Then there's Harrison, he's late on his payment, again. Billy and Eddie. I think you can handle him... Now, Tommy... Julie... another talker. I don't want her singing to that new police boyfriend she's got, understand? Do whatever you've got to, money's no trouble of course.... John, Charlie, I want you to go and watch as many of the protected houses as you can, someone's been breaking and entering, in the middle of the day, and we've got to catch them… Right, everyone got it?"

He stood up and headed over to the bar, "Get to work, then, all of you, we'll meet at The Clarence later, when we're all done," he snapped and everyone jumped up, loaded their guns, met with their assigned partners and hurried towards the door and away from Freddie's bad mood. Everyone, that is, except me. I'd not been assigned.

"Er..." I venture, "You didn't..."

"Mention you, I know." He didn't turn, "What about it?"

I opened my fat mouth, "I'd just rather not sit around to knit tea-cushions, that's all," and winced. I hadn't really meant to say that, but I was so fucking tired, I couldn't help myself. He turned around slowly, an unreadable expression on his face. I gulped, convinced I was dead meat. _Shit._

But, no, I wasn't. Freddie didn't blow out my brains. Instead his face slowly broke into a lopsided grin and he laughed. "I would hope you wouldn't have to sit around and knit tea-cushions, either." He chuckled as he walked back to his seat, "That would prove to be fucking boring, wouldn't it?"

I nodded, smiling sheepishly. He chuckled again and sat down. "Actually, Archer, there is something else you and I'll get done. But later. I want to talk to you first."

_ Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit._ _This is it. I'm dead, he's going to grill me alive and then there won't be enough of me left to help him with whatever it was he wanted help with. Oh shit, oh shit, oh..._

"Are you feeling all right, son?"

_ What the fuck?_

"You look a bit peaky and I don't think it's because you overslept... is something the matter?" He leaned towards me, early morning whiskey in his hand, his face attentive, and his eyes concerned. I shook my head, trying to clear the shock that had settled on me like fog.

"No, nothing's, er, wrong."

"You sure, son?"

I nodded, "Yeah." I looked at my hands, feeling awkward.

"Archer…"

"Yeah?"

"I want you to trust me…"

I looked up quickly, and met his eyes. "I do."

"Then why are you lying?"

I looked away, again embarrassed, "It's not my place to go bothering you like that."

"It's not a bother."

I shrugged, "Sure, sure. Whatever."

He stood up and walked around the coffee table to sit next to me. "Is it too personal? I'm I prying?"

I couldn't help myself, I turned my head in the other direction, "No... well, yes, but... nothing, you shouldn't be bothered with it..." _God, I feel like a fucking pansy…_

"Archer... I want you to tell me. Not as your boss, just as a friend, if you like... but I want you to tell me."

I looked up at him, again, into his eyes, and they were beautiful eyes, a rich chocolate brown. _Odd. Never noticed it before…God is he good looking._ I blinked. I hadn't just thought those things, had I? I looked away quickly, I'd been staring. _Fuck, what is Freddie going to think?_ Never mind the fact that all the blood was rushing to the wrong place.

"I want you to tell me what's bothering you, son. Come on, now. Let's have it. Clear the air, eh?"

I nodded and shifted in my seat, valiantly ignoring the faint heat pooling between my legs. He handed me a glass of whiskey and I drank it gratefully. One swallow._ Down the hatch._ He raised an eyebrow but I fingered it as I slowly started to speak.

"It's just that, well... last night I had a rather... unpleasant visitor, that's all. And we had a bit of a row."

"Who?"

"No one, really."

"Ah. The-Person-Who-Knocks-On-Our-Door-But-Cannot-Be-Identified. I've had my own fair share of trouble with him."

I couldn't help but snort with laughter. _Nice, Archer. Real smooth._

He smiled and reached over for the pack of cigarettes on the table, "Someone I'd recognize?"

I shook my head, taking one from the offered pack, and rummaged in my pocket for my packet of matches, "Nah, just my ex-boyfriend..."

He froze. I froze. The whole fucking world just froze. I stared at him in horror, cigarette slipping from between my frozen fingers.

_You idiot!!! You fucking cunt! You've blown it! Blown your one big break, blown the chance of a lifetime! Blown it to kingdom come! Sure you didn't mean to tell him that you were gay, but you did. And now it's all going to be over. Do you really expect Mr. Freddie Mays to be different than all the rest? He'll throw you out. Like the fucking disgusting fag he probably now thinks you are…_

He looked at me, and I, petrified, stared back. I watched the emotions flicker slowly across his face: first confusion, then shock as my words register, then understanding.

And he smiled. "Girlfriend, boyfriend, I don't think it makes much difference, do you Archer? Ex's are bothersome no matter what their gender, eh?"

It was my turn to stare in shock. _Did he just? He did… he fucking did…_ "What? Don't you care?"

He raised an eyebrow, "Do you want me to care?"

"Well, no."

"Well, then… No, Archer, I don't care…I don't care at all."

I let out the breath I'd subconsciously been holding. He picked up my abandoned cigarette off the floor and threw it onto the table. Then he picked up the lighter, lit his fag, picked up the pack of cigarettes and lit a second fag with the first. He handed the second one to me, and I took it, fingers trembling slightly.

He stretched out his legs, under the table, and blew a ring of smoke into the air. "Before I became the 'Butcher of Mayfair', or basically before all this shit about me being number one started, I shared a flat with a man named Jackson. Wonderful man, Jackson and as big a poof as you'd ever find. After living around him for six years, I don't think I could care, eh?"

I shook my head, "Probably not."

He smiled, "Absolutely not."

I smiled back, and as I looked back down at my hands, a thought popped into my head and I couldn't help but chuckle.

He looked at me, "What?"

"Nothing."

"We've been over this, Archer Slone. The day you say something is wrong is the day I'll stop worrying— "

"Well it's just, the way you described that flatmate of yours, reminds me of my brother."

"What. Is he like you?"

"Nah, he's just a rent boy for fun. Straight as an arrow."

Freddie laughed, "Straight? Says who?"

"He does."

"And you?"

"Me? What? After seeing him come home from work at three in the morning wearing a pink dress?" I grinned, "I'm gonna have to say he's ginger."

Freddie laughed again and got up to get more whiskey. "I don't think Jackson was ever _quite_ that bad… Anyway, let's not change the subject. You're being sneaky."

"Who me?"

"Yeah. You."

"Lies."

He snorted. "Shut it you. Fucking wide boy."

I grinned.

"You said your ex-boyfriend came over last night?"

I sighed, "Yeah, at around midnight."

He nodded, sitting down next to me again, "Odd time of night for a conversation."

"Yeah, but he didn't want to talk.... he wanted to come back."

"Awkward."

I snorted, "A bit… Especially since…"

"Since what?"

I took a deep breath: "he-cheated-on-me-with-my-sister's- boyfriend-while-I-was-at-my-mum's-funeral."

He looked at me, one eyebrow raised, amusement battling with confusion for dominance in his eyes, "Come again?"

"He cheated on me with my sister's boyfriend when I was out of town, at my mum's funeral." I said slowly, looking down at my hands."

"Oh." I nearly laughed at his anticlimactic reaction, but what else could he say? "Well, he sounds like a complete bastard to me, so you're probably well shod of him."

I nod, "Right. I know. And he was."

"Was?"

"Er....."

"Archer?"

"Well..."

"What happened?"

I got up, grabbed the unwanted fag off the table and, in a rather pathetic attempt to avoid those piercing eyes, I walked towards the rubbish bin. "I kinda pushed him... over the banister, and... he kinda... fell... nine stories, and... he...kinda... er... died."

The silence was, once again, deafening.

"You killed him."

"I didn't mean to, I just..."

"Got upset."

I nodded. "Yeah." I leaned my head against the wall, my back still to him, "The police don't know it was me, though, no one was up, no one but one of my sisters and one of my brothers and they won't tell anyone. I just... I've never really... killed anyone like that before, you know? .... er, no you probably don't know..."

I turned around and slid down the wall till I was sitting on the ground, "I mean, I've killed people before, but it's always been thought out, I mean, I'm planning it out in my head as I'm running, or walking or whatever.... But this time, it was..... it just.... happened... I didn't necessary _want_ to kill him, I just... got so angry... I just... killed him... just 'cause... I just, _did_...."

He slowly walked over and sat down next to me. I sighed and turned to look at him, "Am I making _any_ sense at all?"

He smiled, and it was that soft, beautiful smile. "I felt the same way about killing that copper in Bethnal Green. Oh, I know," he laughed at my incredulous look, "I'm the Butcher of Mayfair, of course I meant to kill him…. Right. Sure... I never planned on killing him. I went to confront him about what he'd been doing and... he got violent, yelling at me, calling me a cunt..."

"Calling _you_ a..."

"To him I was... Probably still am… But I didn't like what he was saying... so, I got angry... and, I killed him. Rather like yourself... But, of course, I didn't push him over a banister…"

"No, you made him into tater tots instead."

He laughed, a warm, rich sound. I felt a strange warmth spreading through my chest. I'd been the one to make him laugh. Me. Archer Sloane. Not some makeup-ed bird with peroxide-ed hair. Me. Myself. I. My words that had him laughing.

I took a pull from my fag, my actions suddenly automatic as I, again, tried to ignore that heat between my legs. I was smiling, soaking up the comfortable silence that had fallen between us. I was... I was happy... I was just… happy… fucking happy. I felt almost high. For the first time in, what?, two years. Just from talking. Just from fucking talking... to Freddie Mays.

Freddie Mays.

He trusted me. He had to have, or else he wouldn't have told me all those things. And he cared about me, at least to some extent. I knew that he didn't consider me any more than a friend, but I didn't care. I'd fucking fallen for him. Every smile, every word. God… Yes, I suppose he was like my god in a way. My own Adonis.

And I only fell deeper and deeper in love. Time sped by, but I was oblivious; oblivious to absolutely everything if Freddie was in the room. Especially other people. There was a strange feeling in my chest all the time, a pressure that eased up only when I looked at Freddie.

_ I love him. God, how I fucking _adore _him…

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_

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_


	4. A Round of Golf

**Chapter 4:**

**A Round of Golf…**

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If we had a good day…Well, we always had a good day…we'd end up at Fat Charlie's. The whole gang of us. There was Mad John. Yeah, well, he was really mad. Billy Not-So-Smart. Roland. Always with two birds. Derek. One would do for him. Eddie. Poor little Eddie. And Tommy, Freddie's old house pet. Happy as fucking monkeys in a cage. Shag pile and Babycham. No ambition. Not like Freddie.

Not like me.

Every night all eight of us guys and about ten girls crammed our way into that tiny flat. I'd sit at the table with Mad John and we'd talk about different types of cars or guns or who was fucking whom and why. Sometimes the two of us were joined by Fat Charlie and we'd play cards. But mostly it was just me and John.

At about eleven the music would start and John and I would laugh at the rest as they danced. Or rather attempted to dance. Fuck me, but it was hilarious.

"Put it on. Here we go." Shouted Eddie, a bit tipsy, "Is it on? Here we go, right!"

"Go on, Billy!" Laughed John

"My old woman loves this one. Pity she ain't here." Said Tommy, and he moved a bit more into the center of the room, bobbing his head up and down to the beat.

One of the numerous, nameless girls comes up to me and John, "Nice bit of bubbly, darling?" she asks me.

"Not right now." I say, and John leans forward to light my new cigarette.

"Piss for fucking carpet, ain't it?" Laughed Billy and it is, some fluffy white shag thing.

"I'm still hungry." John complained to me before turning and yelling, "Charlie, you got no sausage rolls?"

It was at that moment that they all started to sing along. God help us. Billy started humping one of the girls. God. John laughed. She screeched.

Then the phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. I was almost contemplating answering it myself, just for something to do, but then Tommy heard it and headed over. I leant back in my seat again.

"Yeah?" he said, then lowered the phone and turned to the room, "Shut up a minute! Turn that fucking music off! Eddie!" Eddie looked up, "Turn it off!"

There was panic in Tommy's voice. I sat up. Eddie turned off the music and everyone started complaining. Everyone but Eddie, John and I. We were watching Tommy. Watching as he hung up the phone and then turned around with a grim expression on his face.

"Right. Boys, get in the car."

"What?" Asked Billy.

"The club's on fire." John and I looked at each other. I put down my half finished cigarette. We stood up together, everyone else peeling themselves away from their girls.

_ The club's on fire. Freddie May's club. Fuck._

I was the first one out the door.

I saw the smoke before the car turned the corner. And there was the club, all five stories burning like hell, flames leaping out of the windows, reaching towards the sky. John and I were out of the car before it was even stopped. There was a huge crowd of people, blocking up the street and John headed off towards the sobbing waitresses. I headed off to find Freddie...

But Tommy got there first._ Oh, joy..._

Freddie was just standing in the middle of the street, in front of the rest of the crowd. He didn't even look at Tommy as he stepped up beside his boss. I stayed behind, wishing I could just step up next to them and join the conversation. Make sure Freddie was all right. But I knew I couldn't. Not with Tommy already there. _Fucking Tommy. Go make a hole in the fucking Thames._

"How long you been here?" he asked Freddie, and he was nervous, kept rubbing his sweaty hands on his slacks.

"Just got here, just pulled up." Freddie answered and there was a cool, angry note to his voice that made me shiver. _But he's just pulled up, that's good. He can't have gotten hurt then. Freddie's okay. Thank God._

"Did you see anyone?" Tommy's voice was almost squeaky.

"No." Again, crisp and angry. Freddie didn't want Tommy there, I realized suddenly and I had to fight an unexplainable urge to go up and drag Tommy away. To make him leave Freddie alone and give him the solitude he obviously wanted...

"No one on the door?" _Oh shut up Tommy, shut up._

"It was supposed to be Joe. Didn't turn up. I don't know where he is."

"Everyone get out?"

"Yeah, I think so." Freddie then turned around to look at the crowd and his eyes fell on me. He gave me a small smile. I smiled back, and it was just as strained looking, I'm sure, as his was. Then I looked at Tommy, _Do you want me to get rid of him?_ Freddie shook his head slightly, but he smiled again, gently.

Then John came up behind me, past me, up to Freddie and Tommy. He'd got one of the waitresses in tow and she was sobbing like her kitten was stuck up a bloody tree. John just shoved her towards Freddie with a sharp, "Tell him."

She sobbed harder, "I'm really sorry, Freddie." _Sorry? For what?_ I moved closer. Roland came up to join us and Freddie thew me a glance. I moved even closer.

John shook her, "What's he gonna do, take it out of your bleeding wages girl? Tell him..." she just cried, probably louder than before.

John sighed and looked up at Freddie, "There were two of them. Table six. Ordered champagne. Didn't eat nothing. Couple of minutes after they left: Whoosh!" _Fuck._

Roland looked at Freddie, "Lennie Taylor." _Lennie Taylor? Oh... PEACHY..._

Tommy glared at the girl, "Regulars, were they?"

I looked briefly past Freddie and something caught my eye…_Headlight? Turning on? Odd. Who the hell would be driving off with the club all ablaze... Unless... _

For the first time in my life, Freddie's voice failed to capture my attention. I stared at the car._ Unless... Is it...? It can't be... it is.... it fucking is..._ And my feet started moving. I walked, or rather my body moved, past Freddie, down the street, toward the car. _That fucking car... that cunt... fucking bastard..._ I close in towards the car. _50 meters away. 35 meters. 20. 10. 5... _I was angry. No. I was furious. The heat of the flames was a fucked up sort of fuel: filling me up, goading me on, burning inside me.

The car backed out of the spot, turned, pulled away, drove past me, the light hit the passenger, _Sullivan, fucking Sullivan, _I saw a gun, pointed at me, heard the shot, heard it fucking whistle past my ear. Adrenaline rushed though my veins, scorching, melting my insides...

I could feel the boys' eyes on my back as sharply as I felt the heat of the flames on my cheek. I turned around. Everyone was staring at me. Frozen. John was shocked, Tommy was annoyed _fuck, what else would he be?_, Roland was surprised. But Freddie was... Freddie was angry and... and... I didn't know what that look in his eyes was, I couldn't describe it... it was something... unfathomable...

I looked back down the road, just in time to catch the red winking of Sullivan's taillights. Taunting me... _Lennie Taylor's goons, torching our club? Lennie Taylor, you cunt. Think you're better than Freddie Mays? Lennie-fucking-Taylor... you little piece of dead meat…_

The next night, Roland, John, Billy, and I were in the Zephyr outside the Metropolitan Club. I'd put us on stake out. Freddie hadn't given orders to anyone regarding retaliation, but it wasn't too hard to recruit helpers. I wasn't the only one pissed off. And, anyroad, what else did anyone expect me to do about it? What was I _supposed_ to have done? He started the fire. He fucking shot at me. _Cunt. Fucking cunt._

I came up from behind him in the lobby. "Oi, Sullivan," I said, leaning over the back of his chair, "Fancy a game of golf?"

Billy and Roland grabded his arms and drug him upstairs. There was rope in the shed on the roof and we tied him down. He was yelling bloody murder… John was laughing… So was Billy… Roland was smiling, well grinning actually… and I was… I was…

I don't really remember, to be honest. It's all rather hollow and vague. You know, just bits and pieces. Fragments of memory…

_ Roland goes in with the shaft and bends the fucking thing. No, breaks the fucking thing… _

You should have seen their looks when we brought the clubs back….

_ Mad John's doing his feet with meticulous attention to detail…_

_ Billy's doing his ribs… Stone Age xylophone… _

I saw Sullivan about a year later. Some scarring, bit of a limp. Seemed all right. He bought me a drink. What can I say? He misbehaved.

Got punished.

_ "Hey Billy, move, eh?" He moves and I run forward, club above my head, battle cry emerging from my lips. I hit Sullivan with all the force I can muster._

_ He screams._

_ I hold out my arms, face to the sky and scream to whatever deity's above me._ _"FORE!!!!!"_

When I got home that night and was getting changed, I realized that the uppers of my shoes were all bloody… Still damp, even… I threw them away and got a new pair the next morning from the local store.

I didn't remember until years later how they'd gotten that way…

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	5. Tiger

**Chapter 5:**

**Tiger**

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The next day. Freddie found out what we'd done. What I'd done. My phone rang at 5:45 that morning. It was Tommy.

"Archer." He said, "Get over here. Now. Freddie wants to talk to you."

The effort it took to make my feet cross the threshold of his flat was enormous. I felt sick with effort. I walked in, finally, and immediately wished I hadn't. Because the first thing I then saw was Freddie's face…

It was a mask. A cold, seething mask of pure venom... all directed at me. _Oh god. _Everyone else filed in and sat down. John. Roland. Billy. _Oh god. Oh my fucking god…_Freddie stood up. Walked around us slowly. _Like a bloody tiger_. Past Roland. Right behind me. I didn't breathe. I couldn't. I think I'd forgotten how… _Oh god Freddie, I've fucked up. I know I've fucked up and I'm sorry…but he'd petrol bombed your club… he'd fucking… oh god, Freddie… I'm sorry… just give me a chance to explain and… _

Then his foot slammed into the back of my head.

"Pea-brained little FUCK!" I winced and gritted my teeth.

"What did I say?" he yelled, "What did I fucking say?" He went back to pacing around us, and he made me feel like a trapped animal. Well, the part of me that was still functioning. _Hell, that hurt. God, that fucking HURT_. Billy was shaking. Roland had frozen. John, god, even John looked scared. _Oh, fuck…_

"Right out in the open." Freddie snapped. I felt his glare fixed on the top of my throbbing head.

"What did I tell you? What do you do? What do YOU go and do?" He was headed for a full-blown rant, and I could see in Roland and John's eyes that our lives were going to become hellish for quite a while – even if we did get on our knees and kiss Freddie's shoes in repentance. I'd never seen Freddie so angry and it upset me. I didn't like Mr. Freddie Mays, the Butcher of Mayfair. I liked Freddie. Just plain Freddie. _God, Archer, you slag, you've fucked things up nice and proper now, haven't you?_

But Billy, bless his stupid soul, spoke up in petrified attempt to explain our side to the then furious Butcher of Mayfair, "But Fred, he was one of them..."

"YOU SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!"

"He'll be all right…?" Billy ventured and Freddie glared at him with such fury and vengeance that he seemed to me a wrathful god come down to punish the lowly sinners. Banish us all to burn in hell.

"All right?" his voice was deadly soft and I suppressed the shiver that raced up my spine, "All right?!? The cunt's in traction for nine months!! Might need a fucking wheelchair!!! Plastic surgeon!!! All right?!? It is not fucking ALL RIGHT. It's all fucking wrong you MORONS!!!"

Freddie was now directly across from me and I hastily looked away from the glare he sent me, "Remember what I said? 'This is a delicate matter.' What do you do? You go and give the cunt a handicap."

Mad John snorted with laughter and the glare was turned on him. John looked down quickly at his hands and swallowed the rest of his amusement, throat working hard to hide it from those burning eyes.

Freddie glided down the steps, gliding closer to us. "Fucking grief you've caused me. 'Fuck what Freddie says', is that it, eh? Is it?" I wanted to shake my head, _no Freddie. Fuck NO. I just… I didn't fucking think… I… oh fuck I'm sorry…_

He turned and pointed towards his seat, and there was an even greater fury in his eyes now, the kind that consumes the whole fucking room, "There's the chair!!" he yelled, "Who wants it?!"

_ You can't be serious…_ "There it is!!! Come on, who wants it!?!" _Oh fuck Freddie, don't do this, please, don't do this…_ "Come on, WHO WANTS IT?!!?"

The room was deadly silent.

The others were staring at him in shock. I stared at him too but mixed with the shock was fear, pounding through my veins. _He can't be serious_... but, no, he sat down, and the fear slowly evaporated. I felt almost sick.

He looked at us and shook his head, and a small smile appeared – slowly curled onto his lips. And the smile was full of mockery towards us… but his eyes were full of self mockery.

He shook his head again. "No…You ain't got the bollocks, none of you."

His eyes flicked to me, "and you, you cunt!" I winced at the venom that had returned to his voice, "Striding along like John Wayne looking for a fucking bullet in your brain!!" he leaned forward, still glaring, "Arsehole!!"

I wanted to apologize, somehow make it all right again between the two of us. But I didn't dare. Not in front of everyone else. They would have just laughed.

He stood up slowly, moved to the bottom of the steps, turned to face us again, and sighed. "Right. Now I gotta go and speak to that piece of shit Lennie Taylor." Roland moved to get up, but Freddie snapped at him, "No. Sit down."

Freddie pointed to me. "You. You're coming with me." He turned and walked up the steps._Oh, what, he's leaving… are we going now?_

"Now?" I asked.

"Yes, now." He snapped.

I got up and followed him up the steps. I stopped near Tommy and he handed me a gun. But when my hand closed over the handle Tommy didn't let go. _What the fuck? _He looked me dead in the eyes.

"Don't use it."

I took out the cartridge and headed downstairs to the car, running in order to catch up with Freddie. I didn't want him leaving without me...

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	6. Heat

_If you're a Freddie/Archer shipper like me, this is the chapter you've been waiting for. If you don't like slash... it's pretty much only in this chapter. Bear with my muse, please._

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**Chapter 6:**

**Heat  
**

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I sat frozen in the passenger seat of the Zephyr. Freddie was dead quiet. I looked at him. His eyes were trained on the road. I looked away, at my reflection _God, I look like shite_. We were stopped by a traffic jam at the mouth of one of the central round-a-bouts. It was starting to get dark and Freddie flicked on the headlights. I looked at him again. He still wouldn't meet my eye. The car pulled forward, weaving through the mess of other vehicles.

His hand moved towards me and I jumped… but he only pressed the radio on. Jazz filled the car and the song was so perfectly "Freddie-is-irked" that I almost laughed. _Why don't you just say something Archer? It can't be that hard. Alright, take a lookout at him again. _This time he looked at me or, rather, glared. I hastily looked away. Neither of us said a word.

Eventually, I gathered up my courage and opened my mouth to speak…

And then shut it…

And opened it again…

And…"Er... Freddie?"

"What." A snarl, tense and angry. I swallowed and plowed on.

"I don't suppose apologizing would make the situation any better, eh?"

"Not with Lennie Taylor, no."

I took a deep breath, "You were right, of course. I shouldn't have done it. I'm not trying to make excuses for myself… but I wasn't thinking… and… I'm sorry Freddie... and... I..."

"Archer." His voice was soft, with no hint of any previous anger. I looked at him and he was still looking out through the windshield but there were heavy lines etched on his forehead. He pulled the car over, into the shoulder of the road. I stared at him _What are you doing, Freddie?_ He turned the Zephyr off and leaned back in his seat. He closed his eyes and massaged his forehead with one hand while turning off the stereo with the other.

I sat perfectly still, watched him, waited for I knew not what. His reaction certainly hadn't been what I'd expected.

He took his hand away from his face and sighed. "Archer, while I agree that you shouldn't have beat Sullivan to a pulp, I must admit that I would have done the same thing, if every move I made didn't have such… _political _significance… That being the case, I… I hope you'll forgive me for yelling at you like that... I... you… you scared me, Archer. Can't lie to you… I thought he was going to blow your brains out… But he didn't… Then I heard… about Sullivan… and…I thought you were going to get caught by the coppers… But you weren't. You got lucky, Archer… I don't want my men just skating by on luck...I don't want… you skating by on luck… I don't think my nerves could stand it."

He looked at me, and those brown eyes consumed me.

I managed to make myself nod, "I am sorry, Freddie."

He smiled, "But, er… not for maiming Sullivan?"

"Well... er... no."

He laughed and looked back to the street. "Just don't let Lennie Taylor know that."

"No worries."

"But I do worry." He looked at me again, and there was something in his eyes, something I couldn't quite put my finger on, "But, you see Archer, I have developed the nasty habit of worrying… especially about those I… like."

My breath caught in my throat. Suddenly the car seemed much smaller, the distance between Freddie and me much less than it had been a minute ago. I opened my mouth to say something, I wasn't quite sure what. But one long, gentle finger pressed against my open lips and coaxed them shut again.

Then, slowly, almost tentatively, Freddie's finger slid from my lips around to the back of my neck. His other hand joined the first and he cupped my face with both hands and slowly leaned forward. Closer and closer, until we were inches away and our breaths mingled as we stared into each other's eyes.

Then, finally, he closed the gap and kissed me softly on the mouth.

We kissed forever, it seemed, and it grew more and more heated until, before I knew it, we were panting for breath and he was pulling me into the back seat of the Zephyr. In the jumble, I gracelessly tumbled into the space between the back of the driver's seat and the seat of the bench. Freddie chuckled and reached down to help me up onto the seat but my foot had gotten stuck, and so I only fell again, on top of Freddie, this time my face very close to a certain part of Freddie's body.

On an impulse, I lowered my head and kissed the hot bulge in his trousers, and was rewarded with a loud gasp and two strong hands pressing my head down. I couldn't have cared less. Before my logical mind could kick in, I'd worked the belt loose and freed his beautiful cock from its confines. It leaped up at me, almost choking me with its warm musky scent and I could see the evidence of arousal glistening at the tip. Oh, how I wanted that. I wanted to stuff myself full of his gorgeous flesh, swallow it until I couldn't breathe, never to let go... it slid into my mouth perfectly, as if that was what my mouth was meant for, and filled my mouth with a heavy silkiness throbbing hotly on my tongue.

"Holy shit!" he yelled, his hands now vice-like, and I let out a hum of contentment. The taste. _Oh fucking god_. The taste. Like... I'd been dieing from fucking thirst and his pre-cum was water... god. I couldn't get enough. My hand joined my mouth, I sucked, hard, and my mouth was filled with his cum, and I hastily swallowed, licked up every last drop. I re-dressed him and, after some maneuvering, got my foot free, and sat up next to him, curling into his open embrace.

"You didn't..." he began.

"It doesn't matter." I said, kissing the side of his neck, "This is just as nice."

He hummed in agreement, and we just sat for god knows how long, me curled in his lap with my head on his shoulder, his arms around me. I felt so safe. So loved.

I don't think I've ever felt as happy as I did then.

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**A/N: I did something really stupid. I put up chapter 7. and then deleted it thinking I could edit it elsewhere. But I didn't have it elsewhere... Feel free to hit me. I deserve it... I'll re-post it as soon as I can type out what I remember... *sobs*  
**


	7. Lion's Den

_**A belated Christmas present to LadyTilBug... sorry it took so long...**_

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**Chapter 7:**

**Into the Lion's Den**

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After a bit we pulled away from each other. Freddie slid back into the front seat, the way we'd gotten into the back, but I wasn't about to embarrass myself again with another graceful display. I got out of the back, walked around the car, and got back in.

Freddie grinned at me at then turned the key in the ignition. "Gracefully done, Archer."

"Oh, stuff it." I muttered, my face turning red. Freddie only chuckled and eased the Zephyr away from the curb.

It wasn't long before we were pulling up across from the Double Six, Lennie Taylor's club. I got out first and had a look around. _Dodgy neighborhood. No wonder Maxie likes working for Lennie Taylor_. I turned back to Freddie, he was straightening his tie. He then looked up, met my eyes and as one we headed off towards the Double Six. We were met at the door by a large beefy cunt, all biceps and no brains. He let us in, giving me a suspicious stare, and then bolted the door behind us _Oh, lovely_.

Down a short hallway, Mr. Biceps had vanished, through a plastic-curtained doorway into a bar with fuchsia colored velvet walls and chairs which had only traces of varnish. A couple of drunks sat in one corner nursing bottles of ale and a biker straddled a barstool, raising his eyes briefly when we came in before returning to his shot glass and cigarette.

Freddie sat down at a table in the very middle of the room and I sat across from him. He reached in his jacket for his pack of cigarettes and a waitress with blonde hair and bloodshot eyes ambled up and rested her hands on the table, looking at us in suspicion. Freddie looked at me.

"What you having?" he asked.

I shrugged, "Whiskey."

He nodded to the waitress, "That's it."

She nodded and walked over to the bar, muttering something to the bartender who also nodded. Freddie reached in his jacket again, this time taking out his wallet and I, remembering that he'd about to light up, moved the ash tray closer to him.

The waitress returned, setting a wine glass full of a golden, cheap-quality whiskey in front of me and Freddie held out a fiver. She told him it was on the house.

"No, that's for you." Freddie replied.

"Fucking hell. Thanks." She walked away, holding the fiver up in reverent awe.

I sipped my whiskey, and on my third or so sip I saw none other than Maxie King swaggering up the hallway towards us, a short, squat man with bottle glasses right behind him.

Maxie froze for a split second when he saw me, but then he moved behind me and the short man in the glasses strode up to Freddie.

"Well, well, well. This is nice. Hello Freddie." He held out a hand and Freddie took it.

"All right, Lennie." _Ah. So _this _is Lennie Taylor. Odd. I'd thought he be taller…_

"Long time, no see."

"Yeah."

Lennie looked at Freddie, and then at me, and then Freddie again before moving off towards the bar. "Bobby." He called and I watched the barman grab two more wine glasses and a bottle of what I could only assume was wine, and hand them to Lennie. Maxie was looming behind me and when I turned around he was standing over me in all his greasy glory. I stared at him trying not to laugh at his antics _Lord, he's got guts, thinking he'll scare me, does he? Fuck. I show him scared… _Lennie came over and stood next to me. Waiting for my seat… _ask me, you cunt, I dare you to ask me…_

Freddie lit his cigarette, "Take a walk."

I slowly drained my glass, set it back down on the table, slowly got up and ambled over to a barstool behind Freddie. Lennie, annoyed, took my vacated seat.

"I went to see him today," he said.

"Yeah?" I could tell from the tone of his voice that Freddie was once again in a stressed/worried mode.

Lennie pulled the cork out of the bottle and poured himself a glass of white wine. "Hospital." He offered the bottle to Freddie, who shook his head.

"Yeah, I took him up some flowers, some grapes."

Freddie was hunched over the table, "Nice."

"I should have took him up some fucking Nesquik. Cunt's got no teeth…" I could hear the anger in Lennie's voice, "I though you and I sorted our problems out long ago, Freddie."

"Oh, did you?" Freddie's voice was mocking.

"Yes, I fucking did! What's this about, then? Why you here?"

"Why do you think?"

"You want to got to war with me, Freddie? That what this is about?" Lennie was getting himself worked up, "Fucking Fry's Turkish fucking Delight! Com on, me and you outside! Outside! We'll have a straightener! We'll sort it out. Who's who and what's what! What, you scared?" He was getting in Freddie's face, "Are you scared?"

"Lennie… why don't you just sit down?"

"Sit down?" Lennie's voice was fucking _squeaking_ in indignation, "Sit down? You fucking come into my club, telling me to sit down? You fucking long streak of fucking piss!"

But Freddie, good man, was having none of it, "Lennie, don't fuck around. My place was petrol-bombed."

"Oh," Lennie stood frozen, warily calculating. I could fucking see the gears working behind his piggy little eyes, "Oh. It's about that, is it?" _And what else would it be about you pea-brained little cunt? Eh? Thought we were going to sympathize with you? Not fucking likely… arsehole… _

"Four thousand it cost me. Four-fucking-thousand." _Four thousand. Fuck that's a lot of money. Poor Freddie… Fucking Lennie Taylor…_

"Oh, Freddie, Freddie, Freddie, Freddie, Freddie. Listen, when I heard about that…" _Oh, so now Lennie gets to make his excuses… wonderful…_ "I couldn't have been more surprised. I was… I was gutted." _Sure you were… rather like Sullivan… _"I hope you ain't insinuating that that had anything to do with me." _Not insinuating. Pointing out the obvious, more like._ "Because that would be wrong. My conscience is clear." _The fuck it is._

By this point I was staring Maxie down. We'd been having this staring contest for the past five minutes. But now I was getting tired of it and was glaring at him with everything I had. Sure I wanted it to end but that didn't mean I wanted to lose…

Lennie was still talking, "If I want to come after you, Freddie… I fucking come after _you_. It's our fucking…"

_Got him._ Maxie had had enough. He shot out of his seat, I shot out of mine and met him halfway across the room. _You want to fight Maxie? I'll give you a fight…_ But Lennie Taylor wouldn't have it…

"Maxie, Maxie, Maxie!" He waggled his fingers, and Maxie obediently retreated to his chair behind Lennie, returning to lounging about in his camel-hair coat.

Lennie, meanwhile, was scrutinizing me. "He's a good boy, though, eh? He ain't scared, is he?" _Scared? What the fuck…?_

Freddie must have had the same feeling of unease that I did because he stood up. Maxie stood up. I stood up. Lennie stood up and held up his hands.

"All right. All right. Let's just say he did work for me. Did. That's not to say I gave the order, is it. Let's just say, the sake of argument… that someone's come in your club with a lighted cigarette. They've dropped it in a bin… and a subsequent fire's ensued. And let's say for the same sake of argument… that my man slipped in the showers. Or someone's dropped a fucking taxi on his head… Well, these things happen. How does that sound? Sounds about right, doesn't it?"

Freddie's stiff with anger, "Yeah. Sounds about right, doesn't it?"

We all stand, frozen the tension nearly unbearable but then suddenly Lennie does this bizarre voodoo/tongue/dance thing (because that's the only way to properly describe it) and then, laughing, pulls an unwilling Freddie into a hug. _Get your skuzzy hands off him…_

"Bobby, Bobby! Bubbly. Let's have a nice drink, eh?"

As Lennie goes to get the champagne from Bobby, Freddie turns around to look at me, _What the fuck was that? _I shrug, fighting back a laugh.

* * *

**_A/N: Karen enters next chapter... thou art forewarned..._**

**_Please review...  
_**


	8. Karen

_Lord, I am SOOOO sorry it has taken me this long to update... but this chapter was REALLY hard to write... I didn't think it would be but... ugh... anyroad ENJOY!!!

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All I Ever Wanted

Chapter 8:

Karen

Freddie and I started laughing as soon as we got back in the Zephyr. Freddie mimics Lennie's bizarre dance thing while I mimic Maxie and we start laughing again, howling until our sides are aching.

"Fucking warm champagne!" Freddie laughs, and can't help but let out a snort of laughter. Freddie's face when he'd taken a sip… bloody priceless. He's shaking his head in bemusement, "Fucking prick." I grin at him and we drive on, through the rain, in a pleasant silence.

After a couple of minutes, Freddie speaks up, "Listen, you want to go get a proper drink?"

I look at him and nod, "Yeah, go on then." I'm fighting to keep my voice level. _Freddie wants to go somewhere for a drink. With me. I can't figure out what he sees in me. I really can't. I'm just a fag from Lambeth. I'm no one special. But Freddie... _I was the luckiest man in the world, even to have him consider being with me for a minute.

I looked at him; He had on that gray two-piece mohair. That was a great suit. _Immaculate cut._ Italian. Always with a white shirt. _Always._ His ruby cuff links. I loved them. _I fucking loved them._ Beautiful watch. Wafer thin. Solid gold. Hardly know you've got it on. Bond Street. Two and a half grand. But the man himself… _that_ was the treasure: chocolate brown eyes, dark brown hair that I just wanted to run my fingers through, and creamy, flawless skin. I wanted to kiss every fucking inch of him and…

He looked at me and smiled at me. And then he took off his tie pin. It was custom made: solid gold, with a freshwater pearl above the head of a rearing horse, and Freddie's initials on either side. It was absolutely beautiful…

"You like this tie pin, don't you?"

I nodded. Of course I liked the tie pin, no one in their right mind _wouldn't _like that tie pin. _Not that many people would want to have Freddie's initials on their tie pin but still…_

"Here. Have it."

I stared at him in shock. He held his tie pin out to me, his eyes boring into mine, asking me to take it. And I did. I reached out with a shaking hand and gently took the beautiful gift, carefully pinning it to my tie. I looked back up into his eyes and there was a promise there, a promise that I had been waiting for all my life.

Freddie turned his eyes back to the road, and I stared out the windshield, my mind spinning. Even earlier, before we arrived at the Double Six, I hadn't thought it possible to have the kind of true relationship I'd been looking for, with Freddie. Yes, I'd know he cared for me, and yes, we'd been intimate, but I hadn't dared to dream of the kind of _forever_ Freddie had just promised me. I felt giddy, fucking high. I wanted to lean over and kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him, and _never fucking stop_.

He was mine. Forever. And I was his. And it felt absolutely right. Like I'd been waiting my whole life for that moment. And, in a way, I had been, and I'd grown tired with searching – searching and never finding what I was yearning for. But Freddie had promised forever.

I was now complete. _Forever_.

We got out in front of the Candelabra Club, Freddie tossing his keys to the waiting valet. He took his trench coat out of the boot and handed it to the coat check attendant after we passed the ever-watchful bouncer. We followed the hostess down into the club – I winced as the strobe lights hit me straight in the eyes – and as I walked onto the dance floor, Freddie stopped and walked over to the manager, a jovial bear of a man, who was sitting at a table at the base the stairs.

"Freddie! Haven't seen you in ages! Where you been hiding?"

They shook hands, "All right Harry? Been busy, you know how things get."

"I do indeed!" Harry spotted me, hovering nearby, "And who's this then? New isn't he? Don't remember his face…"

Freddie smiled as he looked at me, "Yeah, he's new. Archer Sloane, my new wingman."

"Wingman, eh? Ain't heard you use that term in ages."

"Well, I've had no reason to for ages."

"I'm glad! Anyroad, enjoy your supper!"

Freddie nodded his goodbye and followed the hostess down into the club – I winced as the strobe lights hit me straight in the eyes. I weaved through the dancers, taking a brief lookout, and smiling to myself at what Freddie had said. I met him at the table, on the corner of the dance floor, and we sat down.

"Wingman? What did you mean, wingman?" I asked, Freddie grinned.

"What d'you think I meant?" his hand rested on my lower thigh under the table. I felt my face getting hot and Freddie chuckled. A waitress came over and set down two wine glasses before starting to pour out a deep red wine.

I smiled, "We drinking wine?"

Freddie looked at me over his glass, "Yeah, why?"

"It's a bit suspect, isn't it?"

"Good for the blood," Freddie chuckled before taking a sip.

His hand moved upwards. I swallowed. Hard. _Speaking of hard… oh fuck…_His hand pressed down on the now painful bulge in my trousers. Freddie's grin was positively evil…

Then the waitress reappeared and handed us menus. Freddie's hand disappeared and I sighed in relief, even as I took the offered menu with trembling fingers. I couldn't concentrate on the menu, _god I wish his hand was back on my thigh. _I drained my wine glass, hoping to steady my nerves, _or get yourself plastered enough to not care if Freddie gropes you in public…_

"All right?" Freddie was looking at me, slightly concerned, I blushed and nodded. His eyes widened slightly in understanding and he grinned. "Right, let's see. Chateaubriand. Rare. Asparagus. Potatoes gratin." The hand returned. Even higher than before.

I threw my menu on the table, giving up all pretense of composure as I snapped out an explicative, "Bollocks!"

Freddie studiously ignored me, "No dessert, black coffee. Espresso. It's called espresso. Might even order a cigar after. Cuban. See what you make of that. Blow your fucking mind."

Not going to lie, I was getting annoyed, more at myself than anything, and I snapped at him as I refilled our glasses, "_You_ reckon?"

Freddie backed off, "Yeah… And I've organized some company."

I looked up sharply, "What do you mean?"

"You know: coupled of blokes, on our own, drinking wine…" He looked straight at me with concerned eyes, "Bit suspect, isn't it?"

I nodded and took a sip of wine. _Freddie's right. It'll look really suspicious if there aren't any birds with us. Don't blow your cool, Archer, for fuck's sake…_

Freddie suddenly stood up.

"Where're you going?" I asked.

"I'm going to the bog." He looked at me and jerked his head to follow, before disappearing into the mass on the dance floor. I waited a minute or so before following.

I'd barely gotten through the door before Freddie grabbed my lapels and yanked me into the first stall. I slammed into the wall, nearly falling over the toilet, and then I was pressed against the wall, Freddie against me and his lips were, _oh god, _against my neck, and his knee was between my thighs and his hand was… _oh __**fuck**_…

We left the bathroom together and Freddie left me, heading off to talk to the manager, but not before giving my arse a playful slap as I headed towards the table. I stared, shocked, after him. _Lordy, right in the open, too…_He just threw me a grin over his shoulder.

I sat down, back at our table, and started on the abandoned food cooling on the table. I'd not gotten four bites in when a blonde girl walked up to the table.

"Mind if I sit down?" She asked.

I shrugged my shoulder, "Suit yourself." I was hoping that she wouldn't sit down, but she did. _Great. Now I have to try and get rid of her, before Freddie gets back. If I don't, then it'll take us __**forever**__ to get out of here… which is exactly what I want to do: eat and run. Maybe back to his place, maybe mine… maybe his, I've got my bike all to pieces in my living room…'course maybe it wouldn't matter, we'd probably just use the bedroom…_

She interrupted my private rant, "I was told you were well-mannered, Mr. Freddie Mays." _Freddie Mays? Fucking hell…_

I snorted with laughter, "What makes you think I'm Freddie Mays?"

"Woman's intuition." She indicated my tie, or rather my tie pin… _ah… that would make sense…_ "I also heard you're a gentleman."

"Did you, now?"

"Yep. And the you're rich."

"So you're a fucking gold digger, then?"

She glared at me, "No, I'm not a fucking gold digger. I'm a normal working girl."

I wouldn't take the hint, "So you're a hooker. Well, Freddie Mays don't pay for it." _That's it, you bitch, fuck off. Fuck off and leave us alone…_

She stood up, "And I don't sit around in clubs taking shit from gangsters. So much for the gentleman crap." I could see Freddie returning to the table, led by a short girl with long black hair. _Come on, you bint, scarper already…_ But she was still talking, "I guess they have to talk you up, you're important, and all." She turned to go but, _too late…__**fuck**__... _

"Karen, I want you to meet Feddie Mays."

Freddie smiled at her, "Hello." They shook hands. _Great. Just great…_

She smiled back, "Hello, Mr. Mays." She turned to me, "And you are?"

I took a bite of my steak.

Freddie glared at me before turning to the other girl, "Mel, why don't you treat my friend to a dance?"

I nearly choked on my food, "Oh, fuck off, you're having a laugh, ain't you?" _He'd better be having a laugh or someone's going to get hurt…bloody bitch…_

He only glared at me again, "Sorry about the table manners. Come on." He turned to Mel, "Com on, he don't bite!" _Says who, Freddie, says who…_

Mel and I walked on the dance floor, I pulled her close, and we just swayed back and forth. I couldn't hear what Freddie was saying to Karen, but they were smiling and laughing… _Jane, June, Jackie...__Jessica, Julie.__She got bumped pretty sharpish.__That's the J's. On to K.__"K" for Karen.__Freddie Mays__and all his skinny birds.__Oh, dear Freddie.__Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. _

The dance ended, and we went back to the table. Mel sat next to Karen, I sat next to Freddie. No sooner had I sat down then Freddie got up, snapped at me to move, and stalked off. When he returned, he told Karen to sing something. And she did, of course…_Just another bird.__Just another skinny fucking bird…_

"Good evening, everyone. This is for Mr. Mays. Freddie.

"Freddie". I mocked, hoping he'd give me some acknowledgement. Especially after what'd I'd given him, twice tonight…

"Shut it." _So much for that, then._

"You like her then?"

"I said, shut it."

So I sat, and listened to the song. _Oh,…__**fuck**__... And you, Mr. Freddie Mays. You had to go swimming in her eyes, dancing in her hair. You had to slip into her mouth, slide over her tongue, fall down her throat, deep down into her belly, right into her blood. You had to fall asleep wrapped around her beautiful, beating heart..._

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_Review??? =D_


	9. Jealousy and Forgiveness

**So... I'm REALLY REALLY REALLY sorry it took me so bloody long to get this out... it's not one of my best, but it's a decent length... kinda... Lady ... my sincere apologies for taking for-ev-er... ENJOY!

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**

Chapter 9: Jealousy

I wouldn't talk to Freddie for God only knows how fucking long. I knew I was being childish but, fucking _hell_! I sucked him off, gave him a shag and he goes talent fucking spotting! And picks some peroxide-blonde tart! I was pissed off… actually… that was putting it mildly. I was _far_ beyond pissed off, I was fucking _livid_.

Freddie tried to talk to me, desperately threw out hints right and left that he wanted to talk to me in private. But I didn't want to talk to him, not right away. Especially not in private; I'd probably only have ended up making a bigger fool of myself. Sure, sure, sure, Freddie was upset; I could see it in his eyes whenever I ignored his not-so-subtle hints. He worried, I think, that I wouldn't forgive him.

I'd forgive him, I knew that already. I just… I just couldn't forgive him right away… I'd look like I had no balls, and then where would I be? And anyway, he wasn't _that_ talented at snogging…

… all right… maybe he was…

But my pride had been wounded and my reputation as a tough man was at stake – I wasn't about to let myself be seduced again so quickly. I'd given Freddie Mays my loyalty, my attention, my trust… (dare I say it?) my love… **_fuck_**… I'd given him my god-damn arse! If he wanted to make goo-goo eyes at some bristols-on-legs bird, that was his prerogative, but I wasn't just going to ignore what he did. If he wanted me to be more than just an employee again he'd have to put a bit more effort in – keep his end of the deal.

He'd have to fucking work for it.

* * *

I shut the Freddie's front door behind me and walk down the hall, my bag slung over my shoulder. Tommy looked up, surprised, "You're back quick."

I shrug a shoulder, "I guess."

"Right, let's see what you've got, eh? Right… er… Brown?"

"Yeah."

"Patel?"

"Check."

Freddie's bedroom door opens. He freezes when he sees me, but – even though my heart is suddenly pounding in my chest – I studiously ignore him.

"Lewis?"

"Check."

"Roberts and Wilson?"

"Check. Check."

Tommy looks at me blankly.

I sigh, "A check for Roberts and a second check for Wilson. Go on."

"Hall?"

"Yep."

"Green?"

"Right."

"Evans?"

"Um-hmm."

"And Mitchell?"

"Check."

Tommy smiles, "Well… nice job."

"Ta."

Then I glance at Freddie, who is still standing by his bedroom door. He jerks his head to come over. I turn back to Tommy, "I'm going to catch up with John and give him a hand."

Tommy nods, oblivious to the drama occurring all around him, "Right, good idea."

I turn and leave, Freddie's glare on me until I shut the front door behind me.

* * *

"All right, Archer?"

"All right, John?"

The bartender stands expectantly, and John nods at me, "What'll you have?"

"Whiskey."

The bartender turns away, grabs a glass, fills it with an amber liquid, turns back, sets it in front of me, and then continues down the bar towards some other patron.

I sip my drink, trying to act casual – a difficult task with John staring at me. I set down my glass and look at him.

"What?"

"Nothing."

I raise my eyebrow. "Sure, sure. That's why you've been staring at me for the past two minutes. I haven't grown any extra appendages have I?"

"Extra what?"

I sigh, "Never mind. What's the problem?"

He shifts uncomfortably, "Nothing… just… well, I was wondering what was up with you and Freddie. You're thick as thieves, and then, suddenly, you're avoiding him like the plague… I don't get it mate, I don't get it."

I turn away, my teeth clenching of their own volition, "It's complicated."

He smirks, "I'm sure I can keep up… I thought you liked him. He'd certainly seemed to like you well enough…"

I snort into my whiskey, "Yeah, he certainly did…"

"What! Did you fuck? 'Cause if you did, I want _all_ the details…"

I laugh at his eager expression, "Not quite, sorry to disappoint. But anyway, seems like Freddie prefers birds…"

"You mean Karen?"

I shrug one shoulder, and nod briefly.

"I dunno Archer… I wouldn't say he likes her…"

"Oh no? Asking her over for dinner? That's a sign of hatred, is it? Fuck it, John. I don't want to talk about this. I came to get drunk, not to think about Freddie Mays…"

"All right! All right… but… ya know, if you ever need a good shag…"

I cut him off, "John… don't _even_ go there." _There, evil eyes. Glaring, John I'm glaring at you. You're my best mate but you're _really_ annoying…_

He just laughs.

* * *

John is waiting for me when I walk in later that evening.

"I thought I'd warn you before you go in…"

"What?"

"Karen's here."

I stare at him in disbelief, _surely Freddie wouldn't…_ "Karen? You sure?"

He nods, "Yeah, she introduced herself," his voice grows high pitched, "Hi my name is Karen.' I was _this_ close to gagging, mate."

_Karen…well, apparently Freddie would go that far… fucking pimp…_

I sigh, "Well, I suppose I'd better just get it over with."

John nods sympathetically and follows me into Freddie's living room. Freddie is there, sitting on that leather settee, cigarette loosely held in his left hand, a drink held in the other. He's talking to Tommy and... _fucking hell_… **her**.

Freddie looks up as I walk in and his eyes flicker up to meet mine, but I look away. I can't look him in the eye. Not now. Not without strangling him… and her.

I sit down next to John, instead of across from Freddie. It feels so odd not to sit where I normally do, but, then, my whole life has turned rather odd. Or should I say my whole life's been fucked up? _Fucked? Apt choice of words…_Er… maybe not… how about "my life is one huge catastrophe?" … _Even _that's _putting it mildly…

* * *

_

The door clicked shut behind me and Freddie spun around to face me, eyes flashing, "What the _fuck_ is your problem?"

_Oh, _this_ is nice. Freddie's gone and blown a fuse…_I raised an eyebrow. "Problem?"

"Don't give me that shite!" he snarled, and I took a step back (arse ramming into his mahogany desk) "Pretending like I don't exist, eh? What the fuck is that about?"

_What the fuck is that about?_ _Oh, **please**, Freddie. Use your fucking loaf…_I rolled my eyes. With a glare, he opened his mouth –

"I'm not a fucking rent boy, Freddie…"

Comprehension suddenly dawned in Freddie's eyes and, to my surprise, as the fury drained from his face he stepped forward, pulling me into his arms. Without thinking I wrapped my arms around him in return, and I felt him nuzzling my neck.

"Oh, Archer." His voice was tender, "I've been an arse, haven't I? Going off with my own plan, assuming you'd… oh _hell_!" He chuckled softly, his breath tickling my neck, "I fucked up, love. Being the self-righteous cunt I am, I've bollixed things up royally…"

I pulled back to look at him, "I don't understand… what…"

"Karen is a bitch."

I stared at him, "Yeah, so I've noticed. So why…?"

He laid a hand on my cheek, "Because Maxie King followed us, silly…"

I froze. "Oh… so that's why… oh… oh… fuck…"

He laughed and kissed me, softy.

I pulled away and buried my face in his shoulder, "Has the giant neon sign appeared yet?" I asked into the silk of his suit.

"What neon sign?"

"You know…" I pulled back to look at him, "The one that says 'IDIOT' and has an arrow pointed at my head…"

He laughed and kissed me again, harder this time… it made my knees buckle.

"So, am I forgiven?" I asked when we broke apart.

"Only if I am," he smirked.

"Cunt," I snorted, "of course you are."

"Glad to hear it… now… what'd you say to me kicking everyone else out of the flat, and you and me celebrating our happy reunion."

"Would we be celebrating in the general vicinity of the bedroom?"

He grinned, "But of course."

"Well then," I wrapped my arms tighter around him, "How could I possibly refuse?"

* * *

**Ack! Awkward ending... but a happy one, and that's what matters, right?**

**Anyroad, REVIEW please!  
**


	10. The Beginning of the End

Updated 7/1/10

All I Ever Wanted

By: V.W. Norton

Chapter 10:

The Beginning of the End

Freddie had broken up with Karen. He and I done a lot of kissing, and some making up – I'd forgiven him, he'd forgiven me, kumbiya… Everything was perfect.

Well…not really. The perfection was surface level and there was trouble coming… I could see it, I could see it everywhere: in the way Freddie touched me when we were in public, and in the way the others looked at us when we walked in a room together. Tommy kept muttering things to Freddie as soon as I was out of earshot. Eddie kept sidestepping away from me and Freddie. Roland wouldn't look at me, not even if I'd socked him in the face. Derek looked at me plenty – as if I'd grown another head. Billy did the same thing, but with Freddie. Charlie was oddly quiet. And John was… well, John was actually his usually self, nothing ever really phases him, I don't think.

But Tommy was the worst. Always making snide comments, hesitating whenever Freddie gave him an order... that was the final straw for Freddie, I'm sure. I told him to ignore them, that they were just being idiots – but Freddie couldn't take it.

Three weeks after Freddie broke up with Karen, Freddie broke up with me. I wasn't expecting it, I wasn't at all prepared. Just one morning he was gone, with all his Armani suits, and all that was left was a hurried note: _I can't live like this. I'm not strong enough, Archer, and I'm sorry that I'm not. I can only hope you find someone who'll deserve you._ _F._

I thought that I would cry. I didn't. I just sat, frozen, catatonic, for God only knows how long. It hurt. My chest felt hollow in a bizarre, aching way. I didn't feel sad… I felt betrayed and abandoned. And it was the most agonizing feeling I'd ever suffered

_Freddie. Freddie Mays. Mr. Freddie Mays. So you think you can just waltz off, eh? Just let everything return to normal? You just _have _the be the big shot, dontcha? Can't let anything ruin that perfect, cardboard cutout image, can we? Oh, Freddie, Freddie, Freddie…you've fucked up, son. You're fucked. I'm going to get you Freddie. You can stop pretending, Freddie…I'm going to kill you…

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_**Sorry this one's rather short... more coming soon, I promise! If you don't like creeper archer, skip the next couple of updates =D  
**


	11. Eddie Miller & Roland

_**A/N: So... this is where it starts to get really creepy... if you don't like creeper Archer, please, save yourself the nightmares... Ta.  
**_

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_Ten Little Indians going out to dine; _

_One went and nearly pissed himself, and then there were nine.

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_

_Nine Little Indians sat up very late; _

_One lost his head and then there were eight.

* * *

_

Six moths later, Freddie was back with Karen. Six months later, Eddie Miller's wife had given birth to a little sprog. Six months later, Tommy got his first granddaughter. Six months later we're in the Zephyr, me and Roland, going past the Double Six.

"Hold up," I said, "Park up along here."

Roland's pulled over.

I look out the back window, "Isn't that Lennie Taylor?"

Roland turned around too, "But who's that there with him?"

I looked and froze, "It ain't…"

Roland shook his head, "It can't be."

I frowned, "It is. It fucking well is. That's Eddie Miller." _Eddie? Eddie Miller? That was Eddie Miller talking to Lennie Taylor. What would Lennie want with a little shit like Eddie Miller? Poor little Eddie. Run, rabbit, run._

We got out of the car and we followed Eddie, back to his flat. Roland was providing commentary the entire fucking way. _God that's annoying_.

"I can't believe it. I just can't believe it. That dirty little Judas. I bet you they're doing something."

I stopped and spun around to face him, "Do you know something, Roland? I've never understood one fucking word you've ever said to me." I turned back and continued following Eddie, "So shut the fuck up. Let me deal with this."

I strode down the balcony, following Eddie's rapidly retreating form. Roland trailed after me. I got to Eddie's door, only a few seconds after he slammed it shut. I heard him call out, but there wasn't an answer. I raised up my clenched fist and knocked.

There's a pause, I heard rustling in the front hallway. Then, "Who is it?"

I grinned as I heard the nervousness in his voice, "It's the big, bad wolf."

I heard him fumble with the peephole cover, "Oh, it's you." He didn't sound at all relieved. I grinned even wider.

I heard the bolt slide back, and I leant away from the door as the knob turned and the door opened to reveal a frazzled, sweaty Eddie Miller. _Time to go to work. _I stepped across the threshold, staring at him.

"Oh," he said, as if to try and explain his preoccupied state, "Oh, I was just making some sweet tea. Would you like a cup?"

I didn't reply and he backed into the kitchen, knocking his coat off the coat hook. I picked it up as Roland entered and closed the front door. The coat was still warm. We followed Eddie into the kitchen. He was at the stove, then he turned around.

"Fuck me," _I'd rather not, _"Hello Roland." He turned away, "Do you take sugar?"

_I just want to get out of here, find out what you know and scarper._ I pointed to a chair backed into a corner, "Sit down, Eddie."

He did so, looking as scared as a cornered rabbit, and I pulled up a chair in front of him. I sat down, so that our knees are bumping. But then I felt the head of my ax digging into my armpit, so I took it out of my coat and laid it down on the table, within easy grabbing distance.

Eddie looked at it as if it was a three-headed cobra.

"W-wh-what's that?" he stuttered.

I looked at it, "That?" I stared him in the eye, "That's my favorite ax, Eddie."

Eddie closed his eyes in fear and started muttering something under his breath, sounded like a prayer or some such rubbish. _As if I have time for this_.

"Eddie," I said, "Look at me."

He shook his head, his eyes still squeezed shut, "I can't." His voice was a pitiful whimper but I stared him down, _he's nothing but a cunt, a cunt that can't lie to save his own fucking hide. Don't show any mercy to double-crossing cunts…_

"Eddie," I crooned, "Look in my fucking eyes… Look in my _fucking_ eyes." His eyes were still tightly shut. _All right, I'll open them for you…_I raised my hand…

His eyes opened, met mine, and he fell over, passed out on the floor. I grabbed a wet shirt from the laundry line hanging above our heads and I hit him across the face. Walloped him. As hard as I possibly could. He let out a yell. Terrified. _God, he's such a pansy…_

"Get up," I said, grabbing his arm when his eyes flickered open, "Come on. Come on. It's all right." _False words, false, false words. I'm lying through my teeth, boldly lying and I couldn't care less… I don't care about Eddie, I don't care about Roland who's watching me with increasing discomfort…I only care about Freddie… Freddie Mays, I'm going to get you, even if it means I have to…_"Come on, sit down. All right? You all right? Now listen," He still shuddered, "Listen. Deep breaths…" I stared at him, frozen, "What did Lennie Taylor want, Eddie?"

He stared at me like a dumb animal, "Lennie?"

_Oh, don't be a fucking cunt!_ I reached out and, quickly, sharply, hit him across the face. I reveled in his surprised yelp of fear. He stared at me, fear rapidly growing in his eyes.

I tried not to blink, "What did Lennie Taylor want, Eddie?"

He was breathing hard, "I was having a light ale and minding my own fucking business." He looked at me, pleadingly, "You know me. You know what I'm like."

I shook my head, "No, I don't."

"Look," he said, growing frantic, "Maxie picked me up. I didn't know what they wanted. I'm a thief. I'm just a fucking thief! All that has nothing to do with me!"

"Thief?" I replied, shaking my head, "You couldn't rob your own arsehole, son."

"Freddie, he's a lovely man."

_Regarding everything but his choice in lovers…_ "Yeah."

"He's been good to me, but his business, it's none of my business… I was in the Prussia, minding my own business, having a light ale. The place goes quiet. I hear my name. 'Eddie.' Oh, fuck. It's Maxie. It's Maxie King. Camel coat. Nutty."

I rolled my eyes, "You are so fucking boring." I turned to Roland, "You bored? You bored? I'm bored."

Eddie was still talking, "What's he want?"

"You're being boring."

"Lennie Taylor, wants to see me. I've got to go and see him. I can't not go. What am I gonna do? Not go? And then what? So I'm squashed in beside Maxie and this big bloke in this Rover. No one's saying nothing. Dead quiet."

"Get on with it. Get on with it!"

"They take me to a club."

"The Double Six."

"That's right." He put his face in his hands, "Oh, fuck!" _Oh, fuck is right. What the fuck happened Eddie?_ "Look, Lennie _was_ there. And he was asking questions about Freddie… But I told him to fuck off."

_Liar! Yellow little cunt like you? Stand up to Lennie Taylor? Not fucking likely._ I smiled, "Did you?" _Encouragement, encouragement… he'll dig his own grave if I let him…_

"Yeah."

"Did you?"

"Yeah, I said I'll have a drink but don't go asking me questions about Freddie."

I nodded at him, still smiling, and I leant forward, "What sort of questions, Eddie?"

He stared at me, shaking again, "What sort of questions?"

I let the smile slide off my face, and I froze, "What sort of questions, Eddie?"

He panicked, "I can't fucking remember."

"I think you'd better try, son, don't you?"

"Lennie reckon's Freddie's losing it."

_He's not losing it, he's lost it. Tell me something I don't know. Go on. Make my day. _"Does he?"

He nodded, "Yeah, you know. 'Love makes you fat' sort of thing."

I suddenly felt as if someone had punched me in the gut, "Love makes you fat," I swallowed, "Go on."

"But that's it. It's a lovely place, the Double Six. It's swanky. Loads of crumpet. Lennie seemed half-decent."

"Did he?"

"I can't remember what was said, but I do know that I didn't say nothing."

He looked at me. I looked at him. He looked at Roland. I looked at Roland. Roland shook his head. I nodded. I looked at Eddie. Eddie was looking at his hands.

I pointed to my eyes, "Look at me." Eddie did so, and I felt him shudder and start to look away, "Look at my eyes." It was a command and Eddie obeyed. I could feel him cracking, I could feel his fear eating away at his resolve.

"I'm telling you the truth." It was a weak, pitiful, desperate plea.

I shook my head slowly, "Eddie." He looked down at his hands and I pointed to my eyes again, letting the ugliest look possible spread across my face, "Look in my fucking eyes."

_Ah, now…_He cracked, "There're gonna do Freddie!" he yelled. _Well this is unexpected…_ "Oh, God! Friday, outside the Candelabra. God! Look…" He was shaking like a leaf but he put out his hand and tried to push me away, "Listen, I've told you now. I've told you. You've gotta warn Freddie."

I didn't move a muscle. _Warn Freddie? _

Eddie was getting frantic, "You've gotta tell Freddie, please!" I reached for a baby blanket above my head and held it to my nose, sniffing. _Warn Freddie? I'm not sure I like the sound of that…I don't like the sound of that at all…_ Eddie shook my shoulder, "Shall we tell him? We'll go and warn Freddie." I looked up and his voice faltered as he whispered, "We'll go and warn him, eh?"

I pulled the blanket away from my nose, "I love that…" I turned to Roland, "Do you like that smell? That kiddie smell," I heard Eddie gasp, "It's lovely," I turned back to Eddie, "Kids, eh? Be the fucking death of you."

Edddie's eyes went wide and then he bolted out of his seat, but my hands were on his shoulders, my torso leaning into his personal space, pushing him back down. He was shaking, his eyes focused on his hands and I sat back down, across from him – I stared at his face.

"Eddie? Want you to look at me… Eddie?"

"I can't." His voice quavered.

"Look at me." Not a request.

"I can't."

"_Look_ at me."

Panic hit him and he started sobbing, his shoulders heaving, "I can't do it. I can't do it." Tears and snot ran down his miserable face and I grinned.

"Look what you've gone and done, eh?" I wiped his face with the blanket I still held, "Look what a mess you've made, eh?" I put my hand out to tilt his chin up, "Come on, eh?"

He shook his head, "I can't. I can't!" His hands were suddenly up, slapping mine away, "Look, I can't! I can't!"

"Eddie." I snapped, "Put your hands down." I hit him with the blanket, and then, finally, I was able to grab his hands and hold them down, in his lap. "Just look at me… That's all I'm asking. Look at me…"

He looked up, terror in his eyes.

_That's it. _"That's it." I smiled at him, pleased with myself, "Weren't so difficult, was it? It's all right." _Just let me take care of Freddie… not to worry, Eddie Miller, not to worry… I'll take _real_ good care of Freddie Mays…_

I stood up, picked up my ax, tucked it back in my jacket, and turned to leave, a grin on my face, "Ta, Eddie."

* * *

"No, I'm telling you. Lennie Taylor is nothing but a little…"

Driving up the embankment, Roland was talking about going straight back to Mayfair to tell Freddie. _Freddie Mays, Freddie Mays…I know something you don't…_

He was still talking, "You don't deal with them kind of…"

_Pull over Roland. Puncture. _"Pull over, Roland. Puncture."

We pulled over and got out of the car. I pulled my ax out from under my jacket and slipped it behind my back, just in time before Roland looked over the roof of the car at me as I strolled around the hood.

"So where's this puncture?"

I raised my eyebrow, "It's not your side? Felt like it was your side."

He fell to his knees next to the car, and I kept walking until I stood right above him. He shook his head.

"Well, me no see nothing."

I reached out my hand and placed it on top of his head, holding him in place but his hand snapped up and grabbed my wrist.

"What you trying to do?"

I stared down at him, "I was stroking your frizzy hair."

And before he could reply, I brought my right arm out, up, down, and then watched as his shocked face rolled down the embankment into the black water of the Thames.

* * *

_**A/N: I know... creeper, SORRY! Can't really help that, it's in the movie... Please review!**_


	12. Freddie Knows Best

Updated 8/6/10

All I Ever Wanted

By: V.W. Norton

Chapter 12:

Freddie Knows Best

* * *

Five days later.

We're at Fat Charlie's and I'm leaning against the wall, directly across from Freddie. He won't even look at me. Charlie'd made us tea and sandwiches but he'd given up on trying to cut the sandwiches and instead settled for beating them up with his knife.

"Oh," he snarled, "fucking things!"

Karen reached for the wizzing knife, "Charlie, let me do that. You take the tea in. Come on." She threw the knife onto the counter and reached for the drawer handle, "Wrong knife."

Charlie grabbed the tray of tea and passes it out to the guys. Karen did the say with the sandwiches. Eventually, in the midst of all the polite "Cheers, Charlie. Ta," John spoke up,

"Fucking headless, it said. Fucking torso. Imagine that, eh?"

Karen was looking green, "John." I said, interrupting, "Karen, maybe you should go down, wait in the car, eh."

Freddie turned to glare at me, "Oi. Maybe you should go down and wait in the car, eh? Take the shortcut, through the fucking window!"

"It's all right." Karen interrupted him, "He's just old-fashioned. Don't think I want to be here anyway."

But Freddie was still glaring at me, "You want to watch your mouth." He turned back to John, "Right, what were we saying?"

John shot me a look of sympathy of Freddie's head before replying, "It's gotta be him."

"All we know is, a body's been found. A black body, and one of ours is missing."

"It's Roland. He's been missing for five days, Freddie."

"Don't mean it's him, does it?"

Billy spoke up, "What we're getting to is this: If it _is_ him, it's them."

"It's two and two now?"

Charlie nodded, "It all adds up."

John agreed, "Fucking right it does. What the fuck are we waiting for? Let's go now. Hit them now," He stood up and glared at Freddie, "We gotta get uglier, Freddie. Take the initiative," He turned away, "I'll show those bastards torsos. I'll cut their fucking arms off! He never deserved it. Poor bastard," He leaned over towards a silent Freddie, "Come on, Freddie. Say fucking something. Let's go now. Let's hit them now!"

Freddie finally raised his voice, "John! Think about it. Why Roland? I mean, why not you? Or Tommy? Me? All of us in one go. Bang! Beautiful. Perfect. Fucking happy. Now, that would be a takeover. That'd be nice. That I can see. But this... Don't make sense. Something does not make sense."

John wouldn't give up, "Maybe it was meant for me. Maybe it was meant for you!"

"Shut it!" Freddie snapped, "And another thing, what if it's someone else?" _Oh Freddie, if only you knew, if only you knew…_

John wasn't having any of it, "Who the fuck else could it…?"

"Someone else!"

"Look, I just think we…"

"Sit down! Right. This is what we do. We wait. All right, you all got that? We wait. We give it a couple of days. And if he don't turn up, all right. So be it. All hell breaks loose."

_But Freddie…it's too late for that… it's already started Freddie… you're already done for… you're a walking dead man, a fucking walking dead man…_


	13. HaHaHappy

Sorry it's taken me so long to post this... ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 13:

Ha-Ha-Happy

It was early Friday morning. That evening, Lennie Taylor was going to do Freddie. I was high. I was fucking stoked, ready for that night to come so I could sit and gloat over him as he lay in the fucking hospital. I was fucking happy. So when Charlie called me early, asking me to come over to Freddie's flat and hold down the fort for him, I was more than willing. _So, Charlie has to play housewife for Freddie, so I have you baby sit. Whatever._

I took the tube to Mayfair and then walked, instead of taking a cab. The air was heavy, the sky a dull, ugly, gray. I felt odd, as if I wasn't really there—as if there was someone else in my body and I was just watching from inside my head.

Inside the flat complex, the lift was broken and I passed Charlie on the stairs. I knocked at the door half terrified and half hopeful that Freddie would answer it. The bolt was pulled back, the knob turned, and Freddie stood before me. He wore rumpled slacks and a cardigan – his eyes were bloodshot and had dark circles under them. I swallowed. He looked like the living dead, _and that's what he is, you sentimental cunt, the living fucking dead. He'll be worm food by this time tomorrow, the two-timing bastard, so there's no need for you to start getting soft. He fucked you over, mate. Never forget that…He's earned what's coming to him. _He stood, frozen, staring at me as if I was some sort of ghost.

I opened my mouth to say something, probably something stupid, something about the two of us, 'was he okay, because he looked awful' and 'was there anything I could do.' But then Karen appeared behind him.

"All right?" I asked, but he just stared at me, "All right, Freddie?"

He turned away and walked into his office, closing the door sharply behind him.

I turned to Karen, ignoring the stab of pain that lanced through my chest, "What's going on, then? He gone deaf or something?"

She shrugged and walked into the living room, "He doesn't want to be disturbed. By anybody."

_Well, fuck. _"I don't think that means me, does it?"

She shrugged again, "That's what he said…"

I followed her into the living room, and watched her vanish into the kitchen area, only to re-appear on the other side of the bar. She looked over at me.

"Cup of tea?"

I nodded, then looked around, trying to think of something to say. Then I noticed that the gold-wallpapered wall behind Freddie's spot on the couch was blocked off by two ladders and a canvas drop cloth. There were also new beaded curtains hanging around the settee area.

I looked at her, "Bomb, was it?"

She looked up at me startled, and I smiled, gesturing towards the hidden wall. She smiled and shook her head at me.

"No, we're redecorating."

"Oh, are we?" I poked one of the beaded curtains petulantly, "Well, that's nice, isn't it?" _Let a bird in your life…the next thing you know the walls are all poof pink… there's potpourri all over the bog…and knickers in your cornflakes…I liked the flat the way it was…_

Karen came back out with a tea tray with cream, sugar, and two cups of tea. It was Freddie's special china set, cream with blue flowers; _Freddie never let anyone touch that china set. Not even Tommy._I picked up my cup with a bizarre feeling of reverence, watching my hand as the delicate bone-wear was shrouded by my fingers. The color of my skin matched the pale background of the china.

I took a deep breath, "So, who's he in there with, or is that a secret?"

Karen shook her head, "No, he's in with Tommy." She threw me a sharp look, "And Roland's sister."

I let out a sigh, looking down into the dregs of my tea. I couldn't remember drinking it. _Say something, you idiot, she's suspicious…_

"Listen, Karen…" _Go on. Say something! _"we might have got off wrong," _All right… _"and if it's my fault I'm sorry…" _Oh, smooth._

She smiled at me, "Don't worry, we can always start again." _Nice save, you lucky bastard_. "You know," She smiled again, "you're not bad-looking."

_Not bad-looking? _"Not bad-looking?" _Not bad-looking?_ "Not bad-looking?" _Darling, I'm a prince. _"Darling, I'm a prince."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah.

"Why don't you find yourself a nice girl?" _Girl? Yuck._ "I could help you, if you like."

_Be tactful... _"Do me a favor. I've got so many birds, they're coming out me ears." I grinned at her and turned away, "I can't even hear myself think…"

_I don't think that's because of the birds you idiot._

I went back over to the wall covered by the drop cloth, "So, what's behind this then?" I pulled it back, hooking it over the top of one of the ladders, it was a beautiful mosaic of a horse's head. I looked down at my tie pin. Exact match.

Karen came up behind me, "Freddie's not allowed to see it yet. What do you think, then?"

I snapped my fingers, "Do you know, it's not a bad likeness of Freddie. Nose a bit on the large side, eh?"

Karen smiled, "Very funny." She grabbed the drop cloth and re-covered the wall, "You know Freddie, he's mad about horses… I thought it'd make a nice engagement present."

_WHAT! No FUCKING WAY! _"You what?"

"An engagement present. As in, me and Freddie, getting married." She looked confused, "Didn't he tell you?"

I felt as though I'd been punched in the gut. I knew he was after birds but… engaged? To Karen? "No, he fucking didn't." Why would Freddie go after a bird like this? Unless… "Are you up the duff? Can we hear the patter of tiny feet?"

"No, not yet."

_Well, bang goes _that_ theory. Jesus fucking Christ, what else is there?_ "No, not yet.' You're over the moon, ain't you?" _Because he can't love her. Not really. He __**can't.**_ "Hap-hap-happy."

Karen glared at me, "That's a nasty way of putting it. I've never been happier." _She's never been happier. Fuck. This was me, dammit. This is supposed to be __**me**__ standing there, gushing over Freddie._ "And I thought any mate of Freddie's would be happy for him too." _Mate? I'm not his 'mate.' I never was his 'mate,' I don't want to be his fucking 'mate.'_ "What's your problem?"

I shook my head, "Ain't me that's got a problem, darling, is it?"

She stared at me, "I'm not surprised he didn't tell you. Not exactly over the moon, are you?" Her face hardened, "There's something really ugly eating away inside of you. See it in your eyes. I could see it a mile off." She took a step towards me, "Well, I love Freddie. I'd kill for that man. I don't give a fuck whether you approve. I'll look after him, whatever it takes." She was nearly yelling now, standing on tiptoe, getting in my face, "Do you understand me?"

I leaned back, "Keep your fucking knickers on!"

She was yelling, "Do you understand?"

My hand went up, I wanted to slap her. Hell, I wanted to kill her—smash her head into her fucking mosaic. My hand started to move down towards her head. I saw her eyes widen is shock, briefly, but then time caught up to us. She spat in my face.

I froze.

My still-raised hand was near my face, and I wiped it along my cheeks, trying to get as much of her disgusting spit off my face as I could and still retain control. Karen was breathing hard, fury in her eyes. It matched the anger boiling up in my chest.

I took a deep breath, "Yeah, I'm sorry… I wish the best for you. Hope you're happy together." _Ha ha ha. Liar._

Karen raised an eyebrow, "Yeah?"

I made my voice and face as mechanical as I could, fighting to keep from screaming in anger, in agony.

"Yeah, really. Congratulations…" _Get out of there, get out of there before you have a fucking emotional breakdown_. "Tell Freddie I'll catch up with him later." _I've gotta ask him in person. I have to find out if he proposed to her_. "Tell him, you know, I'm happy for him. For the both of you." I felt my mask start to crumble, felt all the pain and anger twisting the muscles of my face, "Karen… Take good care of him, eh?"

* * *

I turned to see Freddie, Tommy, and a pretty black woman staring at Karen and me. Karen, already backing away from me, hurried to stand next to Freddie. I watched her take his hand, so casually, and felt the agony in my chest ooze into every fiber of my body. I suddenly felt ancient, worn down and I looked at Freddie with a horrid desperation.

I felt his eyes bore into me and I shuddered, mentally screaming at him, begging him to say it wasn't true, _say Karen was lying, say she's blackmailing him, say anything but that you love her, Freddie…tell me that you don't love her…please, tell me…_

He never uttered a word and the silence was the most torturous response he could have given. I turned away and left Freddie's flat, stiff and controlled. But when the door clicked shut behind me, I broke into a dead run, running for dear life. I tried valiantly to ignore the tears streaming down my face.

* * *

_Well, what was he gonna do? Crack open the bubbly, smiling from ear to ear: "I'm getting engaged!" And you'd say, "Cor, blimey, you ain't? Fuck me! Nice one! Congrats. You kept that under your hat. You romantic old so-and-so." So you know what I'm thinking, Archer? I'm thinking, "Love makes you fat." Poof._

* * *

**_Review, please..._**


	14. Meat

**So, it's taken me FOREVER to get this out... it was a really hard chapter, and it turned out a bit choppy... almost stream of consciousness. But anyways, hope you enjoy it. And I don't only anything, btw, just Archer's name... the rest belongs to people who actually manage to make a living... =)

* * *

**

Chapter 14: Meat

* * *

_Eight Little Indians traveling to Devon; _

_One lost her voice and then there were seven. _

_Seven Little Indians playing with a hive; _

_One got stung badly and then there were five_.

* * *

I don't remember that Friday. Not really. Only bits and pieces. Fragments of the horror I'd kick started. I'd lost it—gone 'round the twist—there was no denying it by that point. Amazing, innit, what love'll do to a person. It'll motivate you, and hurt you, and kill you, and drive you insane. And yet… hell… there's nothing better than it, is there?

* * *

Karen was screaming, "Get off him! Get off him! Get off him! Get off him! Get off him! Get off him! Get off him! Get off me!" _Flick of the wrist. Silence. Beautiful silence.

* * *

_

"This is for you, you fucking..."

"Fucking gun that doesn't work!"

"Fucking cunt! Want something done, do it your fucking..."

"You get back inside, you cunt!"

"Maxie, shut her up!"

"Cut her!"

* * *

"Run! Karen, run! Run! Help! Maxie, please! Not the girl! No! Please! Shoot me! Why don't you shoot me?" _Why don't you shoot me?

* * *

_

_ What a comedy. _

_ What a skirmish. _

_ Look at his suit now, tatters. _

_ The bird's fucked, but Freddie's still twitching. _

_ He starts to move. _

_ He tries to get up, falls back. _

_ Hopeless. _

_ Tries again. _

_ Go on, son! _

_ Now, he's pulling himself along the pavement. _

_ Trail of blood like a bleeding slug. _

_ Come on, Freddie, two more yards. _

_ Fucking lying there on your leather settee. _

_ That's it, Romeo. _

_ Go on, give her a kiss.

* * *

_

_ Work the old magic.

* * *

_

_I've got a machete on the back seat, a chopper on the passenger seat and an old Beretta tucked in my trousers. _

_ And I'm fucking happy. _

_ Green light. _

_ Green light. _

_ Green light. _

_ I pull up outside where Lennie Taylor lives. _

_ Jubilee Mansions. _

_ Here's me, outside where Lennie Taylor lives. _

_ Ax. _

_ Gun. _

_ I'm out of the car. _

_ Walking. _

_ See a car._

_ Pick it up. _

_ M.O.T. _

_ Throw it a million miles. _

_ Walking. _

_ Door. _

_ Corridor. _

_ Lift. _

_ I'm Superman. _

_ King-fucking-Kong. _

_ I'm filling up. _

_ I'm filling up. _

_ Fifth floor. _

_ Stop. _

_ Open. _

_ Out. _

_ Corridor. _

_ Walking. _

_ Machete. _

_ Ax. _

_ Gun. _

_ Chisel. _

_ Tools. _

_ Fucking leather settee. _

_ Fucking handmade shoes. _

_ Draw back the hammer. _

_ Coming up! _

_ I'm electric! _

_ I'm frightening!_

_ I'm terrible!

* * *

_

_ We're in.

* * *

_

"Come on in."

_Don't mind if I do, Lennie. _"Don't mind if I do, Lennie."

* * *

"You bastard! You... God, you cunt! You fucking cunt! You better make a fucking good job of this! You better make a fucking good job of me!"

"Here, have a clock."

"You bastard! Come on, then. Come on, then. Yes! Come on. Could you fucking finish me off? Fucking come and finish me off! Lost your fucking bottle, have you? Lost the taste for it, have you? Come on, fucking get on with it! Come on. Come on. Let's see what you've fucking got! Get all your fucking pretty clothes off. Yeah, that's it. You ready?"

"Yes."

* * *

"Who are you? Who are you? You're nothing. You're nothing. Look at you lying there like a piece of meat. Meat. Meat…"

_Just like Freddie… dear old Freddie… just like me…_


	15. The Takeover

Chapter 15:

The Takeover

Home to a hot shower. Red water running down the drain. Running down my face. I'll be lucky if it hasn't dyed my hair red… There's a knock on the door. I grab a towel, wrap it around my waist, grab my ax, and cautiously approach the door.

"Who is it?"

"Tommy." I open the door. He looks at me, "Get dressed."

"Why, what's wrong?"

"I'll be in the car."

He turns and heads for the stairs.

I get in beside him.

"You gonna tell me what this is all about, or what?"

"Freddie and Karen were jumped outside the Candelabra."

_Act surprised, you've got to act surprised…_"He… what?"

"They cut Karen's throat."

"Fuck me! And what about Freddie?"

"Right, it's like this: He's not dead, but he's in a bad way. He's been cut to ribbons. Has something with stitches, shot three times. He's on the lot. Morphine, you name it. Now, they're gonna try and operate again in the morning. It's touch-and-go. But he's strong."

_Not strong enough. Hasn't got enough guts. Couldn't face the world, couldn't face what he was, what he felt… he a weak little cunt… Strong? Don't make me laugh…_

We get to the hospital, and Tommy tries to get past to go and see Freddie. If I'm perfectly honest with myself I wouldn't mind seeing Freddie. Really wouldn't mind seeing Karen... hopefully I'd get a chance to pull the plug on her oxygen tank…

But we can't get in.

"No."

Tommy's pissed off, "Look, you fucker, I want to see Freddie. I want to see my mate."

"Not possible. They won't let you see him. There's a situation."

"What fucking situation?"

"A serious fucking situation, Tommy-boy."

"Fuck off!"

"Listen. Listen to me closely, Tommy. Lennie Taylor has been killed."

I freeze, I hadn't expected them to find him so quickly… I was thinking the next morning, at the earliest, not less than an hour.

Tommy is almost as shocked looking as I feel, "What?"

"Tonight. Hacked to death at home. Do you understand what that means? Christmas has come early for my colleagues up there. They're charging Freddie with murder. It's perfect. They've been after him a long time. It's a win double."

"Freddie didn't kill Lennie."

"But what it comes down to is, Freddie's finished. Now piss off before they see you!"

"Oh, yeah? I want to see Freddie."

I sigh, and join the conversation, "Tommy, for fuck..."

He turns on me, "You are some cunt. It's just money to you, ain't it?"

"All right, Tom," I say, pushing down my bubbling anger.

"There an admission price for this fucking freak show?"

"Tommy," I say, "calm down.

"Is that fucking it?!" I grab him, "Fuck off. Fuck off!"

"All right, mate?" I ask, my hand holding him still against the hood of the car.

The next day Old Judge Mumbling said, in all his however-many-fucking years: The murder of Leonard Bertram Taylor... (We all laughed at his name) was the most barbaric case he'd ever had the misfortune to try. Judge told Freddie he was an animal... and gave him 30 years, to serve.

Everyone, I think, was stunned. Except me, of course. I'd pushed the goddamn steam-roller down the cliff myself after all…

_Five Little Indians fighting an inner war; _

_One got too bossy and then there were four. _

Poor old Freddie. The king is dead.

All Freddie's boys are in his flat, the day after the trial. I'm standing by the window, a whisky and soda in my hand, listening to John rant.

"I told you. I fucking told you. Someone should listen to me for a fucking change! This wouldn't have happened..." says John.

"You was right!" says Billy.

"Fucking right, I was right," says John.

"Well, so what?" says the ever-sensible Charlie, "It's no fucking good to us now. Tommy. What's Maxie's fucking fate?"

We all know what he's asking, even if he doesn't say it: can we kill Maxie King?

Derek shakes his head, "That's why we're _here_."

"Don't be fucking stupid!" says Billy.

"Don't call me…"

Tommy cuts Derek off, "All right, Der. He's right. We can't go fucking near him. Anything happens to Maxie, we're all fucked."

John's furious, "There's no way on this fucking earth is that cunt... that fucking cunt... gonna do what he done and get away with it. There's no way he's gonna avoid me."

"John...!" Tommy's angry now too, "It's a difficult time. I'm trying to deal with it as best I know. This ain't helping."

"He's dead," says John, "He's fucking dead."

"All right. Just calm down. Everyone, just fucking calm down…"

I'm sick of it, I can't take it anymore. So I speak up, "Act like men. Use your fucking loaf."

Tommy glares at me, "You got something to say? Because if you have, say it. I want to hear it. Fucking say it."

I turn to look at him, "You sure?"

"Fucking say it!"

I point to John, "He's right," I point to Tommy, "You're wrong."

"Fucking right I'm right," says John.

Tommy's angry now, "You saying I'm not up to it?"

I step over to him, get into his face. He smells like cheep cologne, not anywhere near the quality Freddie used to wear. Freddie used to wear some French stuff I got him at Harrods, cost me a packet…

"I don't know," I say quietly, "You tell me."

"You cunt! I'll fucking..."

"You'll fucking what? What? What are you gonna do?" I can see his eyes are overbright, "Start crying?" I smirk nastily and point to Eddie's usual spot, "Sit down, Tommy. Derek... get Tommy a drink, eh?"

The king is dead. Long live the king.

1970. A new decade. No more Double Six. No more Freddie. No more Lennie. Bye-bye, Maxie.

1972. Nothing can touch us. We're moving. Raking it in. Way out of Freddie's league. Sort of thing he'd never have dreamed. First of January.

1973. Grand opening. The casino. Black tie. Freddie always said gambling was for mugs. It is. Took in a million the first year! Never understood that thing Freddie had for the horses till I bought one. Brown Bomber. Earned me a packet. Then disaster. It won!

'76, Tommy's wife dies. So he retires. Lost his balls since Freddie got all banged up.

'77,

'78,

'79,

_Four Little Indians going out to sea; _

_One got fairly injured and then there were three. _

'80,

'81. I've got 300 people working for me. Top that, Mr. Mays.

'82 to '86: Cocaine. A fucking fortune!

'87, '88. Billy offends me. The one good thing I learned from Freddie: Keep your own house in order.

_Three Little Indians walking through the zoo; _

_A car ran over one and then there were two. _

'93. Freddie's children suffer the consequences of the 80s. Don't we all. Do we… fuck! Business is as good as ever! Poor little merchant bankers. Still got enough for a little toot, though.

'94. Not such a good year. Mad John murders his wife in a domestic. Nothing I could do about it as it happens in the supermarket. Fucking sad way to go down. Taken out of the fucking place like a poxy junkie shoplifter.

_Two Little Indians thinking life was fun; _

_One got arrested and then there was one. _

Last of Freddie's boys. End of an era.

'95,

'96,

'97,

'98,

'99… '99…

Freddie Mays is back… the king is back…


End file.
